Tales of a Security Chief
by bookdragon01
Summary: Security Chief Cmdr. Sam Giotto is a 50-something on a ship filled with 20-somethings,his captain included. Because so many people liked "Rule Three", this is a series of largely unrelated shorts about his experiences.
1. Chapter 1 Orientation Lecture

Title: Tales of a Security Chief

Summary: Security Chief Cmdr. Sam Giotto is a 50-something on a ship filled with 20-somethings (his captain included). Because so many people liked _Rule Three_, this is a series of shorts about his experiences.

I always thought the security chief ought to have been given a bit more of a roll considering how many of his redshirts Kirk goes through on away missions. Cmdr. Giotto is identified as the head of security in the TOS episode _The Devil in the Dark_. I have a soft spot for the redshirts and Giotto has taken on a bit of a life of his own in my imagination. He is one of the few TOS characters with nearly all gray hair and I since I've been noticing some myself lately, I got to thinking about what it would be like for him in the AU serving on a ship full of newbies, including a very young version of Kirk.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek (I'd be writing this from a lovely villa in Aruba if I did), but Sam and my other OCs are mine.

* * *

**The Orientation Lecture**

_Because you have to at least try to keep young, womanizing captains out of trouble on shore leave_

* * *

Cmdr. Sam Giotto looked around the lecture hall one last time before permitting the crew to dismiss from the orientation lecture for the planet upon which they would soon embark for shore leave. He mentally calculated that he had gotten through to roughly 80% of them through the simple expedient of using the special stare that looked at no one in particular but made each one of them feel as though he was looking at them specifically. Not bad. And the remaining 20% were all paired with members of the majority, so if one of those 20% started to get of line there would at least be someone present capable of saying 'Stop that you dumbshit'.

The captain approached him with a pleased smile. "Good briefing, Sam. I think you were right. Having the Captain sitting in, right up front, probably did get everybody to pay a little better attention."

If only the same could be said of the captain himself. Unfortunately it took very little power of observation to note that he was almost certainly among the 20%. While he would be paired with the doctor, who was solidly in the 80% and more than capable of saying of 'Stop that you dumbshit' to anyone, the captain included, after the incident on Rigel there had been a tacit agreement between Giotto and McCoy that the captain was not going down to the surface until he demonstrated a clear appreciation of the facts of life on Vorteil III. The prospect of lecturing a superior officer, however, was not something he relished.

"Thank you, sir." Sam straightened slightly, preparing to deliver his requisite lines by looking the captain directly in the forehead. "If you wouldn't mind, sir, I thought it would be a good idea to review some of the details with you. Since you and Dr. McCoy will be the senior officers on the first shift of leave, if anyone transgresses local customs or ordinances, you'll be the first ones contacted to resolve the situation."

"I don't think that'll be necessary, Sam. It all seemed pretty straight forward. I mean, this is quiet agrarian society. It'll basically be like vacationing in Amish country."

Giotto exchanged a look with the doctor - Amish country, but without the commitment to nonviolence and with very, very serious taboos against premarital sex.

"All things considered, Jim," McCoy drawled. "I think I'd like to go over those details again."

"Okay, Bones. Tell you what: I'll meet you in the transporter room in 10." Kirk flashed a boyish grin. "It's been awhile and I want to take a little time to pimp my hair."

Sam and the doctor practically read each others thoughts. _Dear God, no_. McCoy put a hand on the captain's shoulder. "_Sit_, Jim."

"What?" Kirk looked from one to other, gave in and sat. "Fine, let's review."

Giotto activated the screen and brought up an image. "What is the first thing you notice about this woman, sir?"

There was low whistle from the captain's chair. "She is_ fine_."

By pure effort of will, Sam kept his jaw from dropping in dismay. The doctor, on the other hand, glared at the captain with an intensity that threatened to reduce him to a heap of ashes.

"Jeez, just kidding." Kirk held his hands up in mock surrender. "The first thing I notice is that she she's wearing a knife at her right hip, so she's of age, a virgin, and expected to protect her virtue until marriage."

Sam was impressed. It wasn't that he thought the captain unintelligent – he'd memorized the dossiers for every person on the ship and knew Kirk was near genius level. And the captain had proven time and again that he had the ability to almost instantly assimilate and utilize tactical data. But he could have sworn that he hadn't been paying attention. Maybe this shore leave would go without a hitch after all…

"But that's only if she chooses to - sort of like how Southern Baptist chicks are supposed to stay pure." Kirk tossed a smirk at the doctor.

"Dammit, Jim!" The doctor swatted the captain across the back of his head and Sam, not for the first time, envied the CMO's complete disregard for rank. "Southern Baptist girls aren't flogged if they turn up deflowered on their wedding night and frankly a southern-style shotgun wedding would be _nothing_ compared to what the locals might do to _you_."

"Fine, I get it. Stay away from virgins." Kirk frowned.

That brought them to the next important point. "Just to be clear, Captain." Giotto continued. "The vast majority of non-virgins are married. The penalties for adultery are even more stringent, hence the presence of two knives, the second having been provided by the husband."

"Okay, okay, stick to widows and divorcees." Kirk rolled his eyes. "And you don't need to tell me. Widows wear two knives on the left hip, divorced women just one."

"True." Sam drew the word out slowly. "However they are still expected to remain celibate and defend their honor until remarried."

"Yeah, but they don't really have to worry about being found out, so..." The captain waggled his eyebrows.

Giotto was just beginning to calculate just how many security officers he might need to assign to 'special escort duty' when the doctor all but growled and slammed his hands down on either side of the back of the Captain's seat, glaring directly into his eyes. "You listen here, Jim, and listen _good_. If you make a move on someone and she_ or_ one of her family members cuts your junk off, _I am __**not**__ sewing it back on_." McCoy arched a threatening eyebrow. "Are we clear?"

"Crystal." The captain sighed unhappily. "I get the feeling this shore leave is going to be a lot less fun than the last one."

Giotto and the doctor exchanged another look. They could only hope.

* * *

_AN: This one was follows _Rule Three_ (although you certainly don't need to read it to understand) and was written first and because _**T'Key'la **_requested it._

_Please r&r_


	2. Chapter 2 Rule One

**Rule One**

_Because a good security officer has to learn to avoid an unnecessary fight, no matter what the provocation_

* * *

Cmdr. Sam Giotto paced slowly, and in his most disapproving manner, around the young ensign standing at rigid attention in his office.

"Now let me get this straight, Ensign. For the second time in as many weeks, a fight has broken out on board this ship and in each instance you threw the first punch. Is that correct?"

"No, sir." The ensign answered flatly.

Giotto could feel his eyebrows climb. "_No?_ Are you saying that your crewmates are _lying_ about you initiating those brawls?"

"Sir, _no, sir_." She snapped out.

"Then how _exactly_ is it that you just denied throwing the first punch?" he demanded.

Her chin lifted slightly. "I almost never to lead with a punch. Too predictable. Sir."

He briefly closed his eyes, searching for strength. If anyone was finally going to drive him to retirement, it was going to be Margolis. She was as literal-minded as Cmdr. Spock with absolutely none of his cool-headed reserve. He began again. "Nevertheless, Ensign, am I correct in understanding that in both incidents you did issue the first blow?"

"Yes, sir." She almost sounded proud.

That would never do. He got right in her face, assuming his best drill instructor voice. "_Margolis_, do you know the two most important rules for security personnel?"

"_Sir, yes, sir_." She came even more rigidly to attention. "_Rule 1_: If at all possible, avoid a fight. _Rule 2_: If you must fight, make it quick and decisive. Sir."

"Very good." He backed away slightly. "Now can you tell me what could _possibly_ have possessed you to break the first rule _twice_?" That no one should ever _have_ to fight on the _Enterprise_ unless someone actually invaded was left unspoken.

Margolis licked her lips self-consciously. "Mr. Riley, sir."

"Mr. Riley? Did he _threaten_ you, Ensign?" Giotto put as much sarcasm as possible into the question. While a competent engineer and navigator, Riley was hardly a threat. Margolis, on the other hand, despite being about 50 kilos soaking wet, had once left a Klingon rolling on the ground moaning something that Giotto strongly suspected had been a call for his mommy.

"No, he just wouldn't _shut up_." Her eyes flashed with remembered anger before she recalled where she was. "Sir."

"So you decided to shut him up." Sam stated evenly. "What could he _possibly_ have been saying to provoke you to break _the_ rules?"

"Not saying, sir." She very carefully kept eyes forward and focused on some point just over Giotto's left shoulder. "Singing."

"_Singing_, Ensign?" Giotto had heard Riley sing. It was in fact plausible that a person could be _tempted_ toward violence, but he was certainly not going to admit that right now.

Margolis looked at least a little embarrassed. "Specifically,_ I'll Take You Home Again Kathleen_. Sir."

Sam very narrowly restrained himself from laughing. While it was clear that _Kathleen_ Margolis had a (he sincerely hoped) unrequited crush on the captain, he had long suspected that Lt. Riley had a similar crush on the ensign. If so, Riley was going about gaining her attention in _entirely_ the wrong manner. Giotto firmly reminded himself that Starfleet was not paying him to be a relationship counselor and returned to the problem at hand (after throwing a quick prayer to any deities listening to help him get through this without snickering).

He assumed his best game face. "Ensign, I understand that Mr. Riley is _highly unlikely_ to be invited to join the 4 Tenors at any point in the foreseeable future, HOWEVER, I hope that you understand that I can_not_ tolerate having someone on my team who can be provoked to lose control by a **_song_**. Do we understand each other?"

"Sir, yes, sir." She had the good grace to look truly abashed.

"Very good." He paused for what he hoped would seem to the ensign like an interminably long moment. "Dismissed."

After the doors closed behind her, Sam forced himself to count very slowly to ten before collapsing in his chair and giving in to a fit of laughter.

* * *

_AN: Lt. Kevin Riley appears in several TOS episodes, including _The Naked Time_, in which he takes over the ship's comm. system and sings _I'll Take You Home Again Kathleen _until most of the crew is ready to kill him._

_please r&r. I'm working on Rule 2, but I'm open to requests.  
_


	3. Chapter 3 The Exception

_**The Exception  
**_

_Because every rule has exceptions  
_

* * *

Lt. Uhura wrestled out of the attacker's grasp, spun and slammed her knee into his knee into his groin. As he crumpled, she side-stepped and finished him with a double-fisted blow to the top of the spine. He disappeared as soon as he hit the ground.

Green lights flashed, signaling successful completion of the simulation, and Uhura straightened her uniform smiling. Cmdr. Giotto left the observation booth and joined her in the training arena.

"Very good, Lieutenant, but if you wouldn't mind stepping into my office, there are a few points that I'd like to discuss with you."

"Sir?" Her face showed surprise.

His usual habit was to give a public critique of simulation performance as a way to instruct the others watching. It didn't take much to see that she was little concerned about being an exception. If he had to guess (and he had enough experience reading people to be pretty good at guessing) she was either concerned that she was being treated differently because he knew about her relationship with Cmdr. Spock, or because she'd done so poorly that he didn't want to embarrass her, or both. Since that wasn't the case, he tried to reassure her.

"There's no reason to be concerned, Lieutenant. Your scores are among the best in your department." He said it just loudly enough for the peanut gallery to hear, while waving her into the office. That ought to get most of security crew up there thinking that he meant to privately discuss some plan to rectify the generally low combat performance of the communications officers. He could almost hear the snarky comments about helpless comms starting as the door slid closed behind him. If they only knew - it was exactly that arrogance that required him to speak to Uhura privately.

Uhura stood at attention in front of his desk. "Sir, I hope that comment about my scores wasn't a case of 'damning with faint praise'."

"At ease. I don't say 'very good' unless I meant it, Lieutenant." He took a seat on the edge of his desk and gave her small smile. "It's not you I'm trying to save embarrassment here, but me."

"You, sir?" Her eyebrows rose in the tell-tale way that had first made him notice that she and Spock spent an uncommon amount of time together.

He looked at her very seriously. "Yes. And I am going to have to ask that what I'm about to say here doesn't leave these four walls."

"Of course, sir." Now she looked truly perplexed.

"Please, have a seat. This is important, but since it's off the record, there's no need for formality." He waited until she was settled before continuing. "You see, Ms. Uhura, what I'm about to say is something that I've rarely said to _anyone_ in the close to two decades that I've been running these simulations and it's something I do _not_ want that bunch of bravos in my department to ever even_ imagine_ me saying: you shouldn't be so hesitant to throw the first punch."

"Excuse me, did I just hear what I thought I heard?" Her brows drew down in an incredulous expression that said she half-way suspected that he was putting her on.

"Ms. Uhura, your aural acuity is legendary, so I'm sure you heard correctly. The same Mr. Giotto who pounds the Rule One relentlessly into every person on this ship, including his superiors, just told you not to try quite so hard to avoid a fight."

Uhura briefly struggled to keep a straight face and Sam automatically made a mental note that that probably meant she hadn't been involved with her Vulcan mentor for quite as long as some of the rumors suggested (not that it was any of his business, except that nearly everything that affected senior officers could potentially impact security, which _was_ his business).

"Go ahead and laugh." He told her. "I'll understand. That's why this is for your ears only. You fall into a unique category of exception: someone who only fights as a last resort, despite being very good at fighting. I'm sure part of that is because of your exceptional skills of persuasion. Unfortunately, over-reliance on those can predispose you to waiting until after your opponent has the advantage. Sometimes talking isn't the only or even the best way to end a fight before it starts. In that sim, if you had recognized sooner that the bad guy was set to fight no matter what and struck first, he never would have had a chance to grab you."

He held a hand up before she could object. "You acquitted yourself well in getting out of the hold and taking him out, but in a situation with other crew members involved, being held even briefly can distract those around you and seriously complicate the situation. That's the extent of my critique, but since you've asked to be assigned to more away missions, I hope you'll take it to heart."

"Yes, of course," She gave him a proud smile. "And thank you."

"Good, because I intend to recommend you for away team assignments." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Again, just between you and me, as long as the Captain keeps on insisting on going, those teams really need someone with the skill to talk them out of fights if at all possible."

Now she gave in to a small laugh. "Understood, sir."

He gave her a wry smile. "Just remember that given our usual luck, being ready to fight if you have to is important too."

* * *

_AN: Based on a conversation I once had with a former Marine Sgt. turned Aikido instructor._

_After the first season of TOS Uhura was included on a lot more away teams. She was always good at fighting if she had to. In AU, Kirk needs all the help he can get to stay out of trouble._

_please r&r_


	4. Chapter 4 Rule Two

Rule Two

_Because sometimes you can't avoid a fight, but you should be able to end it  
_

* * *

Deprived of his phaser, Lt. Theo Nikandros rolled to the side, making a wild grab at the first weapon that came to hand: a length of fallen tree branch. He came back up on his feet swinging at the huge Kaylar warrior turning for another attack. His strike went whiffing past the giant's shoulder and he gaped in consternation that he had somehow missed something that big. But self-recrimination was cut short by the need to dodge backward to avoid being gutted by the Kaylar's axe. His next swing made contact with his opponent's armored side, and he felt the impact ring through his arm as the end of his branch shattered into a shower of splinters.

"Oh shit!" Theo cried, ineffectually brandishing what was left of his weapon as the axe arched down toward his head.

"Halt simulation!" The Kaylar program froze instantly in place at Giotto's command. He made his way out of the observation booth and strode slowly into the training arena, his hands clasped at the base of his spine.

"'Oh shit', Mr. Nikandros? I must say that's a new one as far as battle cries go."

The 22-year-old looked dejectedly at the splintered piece of wood in his hand. "It's just what came to mind sir."

"Yes, I'm sure it did." Giotto agreed dryly. "However, getting out of the way before the axe split you in two would have been a far more useful thought."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

Giotto restrained an urge to sigh. Nikandros was one of the best marksmen on the ship and he'd dearly love to be able to assign him to away teams, but deprived of a firearm, he lost confidence and wouldn't last two minutes in a real fight. "Another useful thought would have been to remember the second rule and end the fight before he had a chance to aim so many blows at you."

"Sir, if I'd had my phaser –"

"**IF?**" Giotto rounded on him. "There are **no** '_ifs_' in a real fight, especial a fight for survival. There's only your own skill and ingenuity matched against whatever is trying to kill you."

Nikandros stared at him a moment in stunned silence before responding. "Yes, sir."

Giotto knew that had been harsh. He didn't like being hard on him, or on any of them, but he liked the idea of holding a memorial service for them even less. And Nikandros was a special case. He'd been at the top of his class and although some part of that had to do with a photographic memory that allowed him to spit security procedures back verbatim on tests, he was justifiably proud of his skill with firearms and explosives, even if his hand-to-hand scores where average at best. Worse yet, he was undeniably brave. Pride and bravery in Giotto's experience tended to be a lethal combination.

"Look, Theo, you are a damned good shot, but you can't count on having your phaser. I've lost track of all the times and number of ways I've been deprived of mine over the years – and it's almost always just when I could've used it most. That's the reason I insist on these training exercises."

"Understood." Nikandros said glumly. "But, respectfully sir, some of these sims of yours make the _Kobayashi Maru_ look like a cake walk."

"Why, thank you." Sam chuckled. "I'm nowhere near the programmer that Cmdr. Spock is, so I take that as high praise."

Nikandros quirked a wry smile. "Okay, but seriously sir, how am I supposed to 'quickly and decisively' take out something threes times my size, covered in armor and wielding an axe, when I don't have a weapon?"

"Are you complaining about facing a larger, better armed force, Nikandros?" Giotto raised his eyebrows. "What _would_ your indomitable Spartan ancestors have to say about that?"

Giotto watched the young man's jaw tighten. That had been slightly below the belt, but Theo really should know by now that his superior officer took a special interest in his subordinates' favorite brags. Giotto shook his head before he could reply. "You don't need to have a weapon Lieutenant, because, at least in theory, _you are_ a weapon. Now, are you ready to continue?"

Nikandros eyed the frozen Kaylar with resignation. "I'll try, sir."

"Not try, Nikandros. There is no 'try'. Only_ do_." He glanced up at his assistants in the booth. There were going to be Yoda jokes about that, but he couldn't resist (and frankly he kind of hoped 'Yoda' might supplant 'Pop' as nickname, even if they almost never used the later when they thought he was within earshot).

"Yes, sir." Nikandros said still without much enthusiasm.

Time to light a fire. "You know, it's not as though others haven't completed this exercise successfully." Giotto said casually. "In fact, yesterday Lt. Kemal finished just three behind Margolis for best time."

Theo's eyes narrowed. The (mostly) friendly rivalry between the Greek and the Turk was the source of at least half a dozen betting pools around the ship - not that Giotto (officially) knew anything about those. "If I may ask, sir, what was Aydin's time?"

Giotto smiled to himself. "5 minutes, 47 seconds."

"Would it be possible for me to start again from the top, sir?" he asked hopefully.

Sam gave him a long, considering look. "I think I could see my clear to allowing that – this time."

"Thank you, sir." The young lieutenant's eyes practically glowed with determination.

Giotto walked back toward the booth, signaling 'rewind'. He could already see Jenkins and Grosner exchanging bets. He hoped Jenkins wasn't giving odds better than 2:1, because he had a feeling Nikandros just might surprise him.

* * *

_AN: Somehow away teams always seem to lose their phasers or have them neutralized. The Kaylar is from the TOS episode 'The Cage'. Captain Pike faced and defeated one, although he managed to grab a spear to kill it._

_Please r&r_


	5. Chapter 5 Don't Ask, Don't Tell

**Don't Ask, Don't Tell**

.....................................................................................................**  
**

Cmdr. Sam Giotto looked up as Lt. Hanlan placed a PADD containing the day's reports on his desk and stepped aside into a smart at-ease. He was not in the habit of subjecting his people to undue scrutiny, but a lifetime in Starfleet security had honed an uncanny awareness of minor, but potentially significant, changes in those around him. Right now that sense was telling him that there was something different about Jessy today, even if he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

He gave the reports a cursory scan. "Is there anything else I should know about Lieutenant?"

"No, sir." she answered crispy.

Sam pursed his lips. He knew Jessy pretty well. In fact, he had recruited her personally, or truth be told, stolen her right out from under a dirtside 'peace-keeping force' commander who wouldn't have recognized officer material if it had punched him right in the face (which he very nearly had by the end of that particular mission). Something was definitely up, and while he didn't want to be intrusive, as head of ship security, Starfleet was not paying him to not know what was going on.

"You just seem a little different this morning." he commented casually.

"Just finally had a chance to crack open that bottle of Macallan's, sir." Despite her usual easy manner she kept eyes forward. "And the doctor swapped me a couple sips of his bourbon."

Dear God, was she blushing just a little? Well, you did ask he told himself. Now you're stuck with the information. Jessy was young enough to be his daughter, but already one of his most promising officers. The doctor was a gruff, disrespectful, hard-bitten cynic - which made him one of Sam's favorite people on the whole ship.

Two good people who both deserved to be happy; normally he would be pretty happy about it too. However, Sam had 50 credits riding on a (slightly drunken) bet that she was most likely to pair up with the chief engineer and he did not relish the thought of letting Jenkins rib him about making a bad call. He quickly decided that unless presented with incontrovertible evidence to the contrary, as far as anyone (especially the rest of the betting pool) needed to know, fine liquors were the only fluids she and the doctor were exchanging.

He schooled his features to careful ignorance as he signaled dismissal. "Very good, Lieutenant. Carry on."

......................................................................................................................

_AN: Macallan's is a truly excellent single malt scotch (trust me). This short is actually a slightly revised out-take from one of my other stories. Hope you liked it. Please r&r._


	6. Chapter 6 Mission Review

**Mission Review**

_Because experience is costly, so everyone should learn from it_

.....................................................................................................................

Cmdr. Giotto stood in the Security conference room and took a moment to survey his department before calling the meeting to order. People looked stressed. Despite the good news that Ensign Biales was likely to recover, it had been close, and if the doctor hadn't been right there, she might not have made it.

He tapped the chime, signaling for their attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are here to review yesterday's mission and learn from it." He looked down to activate his PADD. "What could we have done to make this go better?"

"Not taken the Captain." Someone muttered, eliciting a murmur of bitter laughter.

Giotto's head snapped up and he glared at them. Even if the observation wasn't entirely wrong, there was such a thing as discipline and good order.

"_As that was not an option_, what else might we have done?" He fixed his eyes on Grossman, daring him to make another snide comment. The Lieutenant had the wisdom to shrink down a bit in his chair and Giotto returned his attention to the rest of the room. "Jenkins."

Lt. Cmdr. Jenkins stood. "Remained in paired teams, sir. The presence of a partner reduces individual risk."

"Very good." Giotto nodded. Jenkins had helped him run so many sims, he could be counted on to give the right response. Unfortunately, while he excelled at tactical support, he still carried a limp from his last foray into the field.

"In the face of an immediate threat, it's easy to become distracted. However, that is exactly when you need most to keep your wits about you. Remember, the oldest strategy in the book is 'divide and conquer', so don't allow yourselves to become divided if at all possible."

A hand went up and he nodded acknowledgment.

Sims stood, a bit uncomfortably. "Sir, I was less than 3 meters from Biales –"

Giotto held up a hand. "No one is blaming you, Sims. You two were left to protect the senior officers on your own because the forward parties had been captured – in large part because they had allowed themselves to become separated." He looked pointedly at each member of those parties. "You were lucky to have only been imprisoned. I do not want to _ever_ have to tell any of you again to keep a partner at your backs when negotiating a maze of passages."

Sims had remained standing, looking disconsolately at the floor. Sam felt for him. There were few things harder than watching your partner go down and not being able to do anything about it. Andrew was a good man and Giotto wasn't going to let him grind himself down with 'what ifs'.

"Ensign Sims, Biales was wounded because she placed herself between the Captain and a hostile. That is what she was supposed to do. You shielded the Doctor and that intervention probably enabled him to save her life." He looked at him solemnly. "As far as I'm concerned, you are to be commended for your conduct."

Sims nodded mutely, his face flushing, as he sat down. He still looked dejected and Marks, next to him, briefly put a hand on his shoulder.

Giotto looked back out over the audience. "There is a hard truth to being in Security and that is that sometimes even when you do everything right, people still get hurt. A better effort might have been made to avoid a fight, but in this case that was not under your control."

And that was as close as he was going to come to publicly criticizing the Captain, who had after all gotten everyone back alive by risking his life to force an end to the fight he'd precipitated. He might be rash and impetuous, but one look at his face as they waited in sickbay and it had been clear just how much he wished that he was the one in surgery. If Biales had made any error, it was in not anticipating that her Captain would try to jump into the fray ahead of her.

"Although Starfleet's mission is peaceful, we are tasked with seeking out new civilizations. Some of those will be hostile and even for those that are not, there are few sentient species that are not naturally suspicious of outsiders. As a result, simple misunderstandings can quickly escalate into confrontation, as happened on this mission. That is why I emphasize the First Rule."

"However, sometimes the best you can do is to keep a cool head and _watch each others' backs_. Although you are each trained to fight alone if necessary, we work best as a team." He allowed his eyes to scan slowly over this collection of youngsters, who were all a little too fond of their image as a 'Force of One' (and if he ever found out which idiots who had resurrected that recruiting slogan, they would regret the day they were born).

"Remember: even Jedi traveled in pairs." He allowed himself a small smile at the muffled chuckles in the crowd. "You are dismissed."

Now he only had to figure out how to get that idea across to young Captain Skywalker.

………………………………_.._

_AN: This one is a little more serious, but being a redshirt in Starfleet can be deadly serious. It's inspired in part by my daughter (9 going on 30) observing that the first guy to get picked off is usually the one to turn off on his own after receiving orders to 'stay in pairs' and that Kirk nearly wound up a pool of acid for ignoring his own orders about that in the TOS episode _Devil in the Dark.

_Please r&r_


	7. Chapter 7 Setting An Example

Setting an Example

_Because even Captains ought to obey the rules_

* * *

Dr. McCoy wore a surly look as he stepped out of sickbay into his office. "He's all yours, Sam. _Don't_ feel like you have to be gentle."

Sam Giotto noted the doctor's expression and quickly figured that kindest thing he could do for the Captain was to chew him out mercilessly – it was probably the only way to lessen whatever ire the good doctor looked ready to vent on him for however long he could keep the Captain in sickbay. It wasn't that he didn't richly deserve it. He did. In fact, since he'd never served any length of time on a starship as anything but a Captain, he was overdue for someone with a few years of battle experience going down his throat about the stupidity of bravado. Not to mention the need to make at least _some_ effort to stay out of trouble in general.

However, yelling at your Captain was not exactly regulation.

"Just promise you'll testify at my Court Martial." Sam replied with a wry look.

"Bah! Jim's the last person to file insubordination. And if he threatens it, tell him I have a _whole battery_ of special anti-hypocrisy hypos I'm just _itching_ to try on someone."

"Understood." Sam chuckled. He wouldn't want a whole ship full of McCoys, but he was damn glad to have at least one.

Giotto put his serious face back on before entering sickbay where the Captain lay on a biobed looking like someone who had thrown himself at three larger humanoids and gotten the shit beaten out of him, which was pretty much exactly how he ought to look. Except for the self-satisfied smirk – _that_ was definitely out of place given the situation. If Kirk wasn't the Captain, Giotto would bark a harsh order to wipe that smile off his face and read him the riot act until he sure that smirk wouldn't come back again _ever_.

Unfortunately, despite what the doctor wanted, Sam had been in Starfleet most of his adult life and treating a superior like that seriously went against the grain. Besides, if he read Kirk right, he was the sort of person who automatically met force with force (which is what got him into trouble most of the time), so an aggressive approach was only likely to make him even less likely to listen. Fortunately that lifetime in Starfleet had also equipped Giotto with a fair amount of experience in how to tactfully get across to superior officers that they were being complete idiots.

"Excuse me, sir. There's something I need to discuss with you. Do you have a moment?"

The Captain looked up with an ironic expression. "It seems like I've got nothing _but_ moments until Bones gets over his snit. What can I do for you, Sam?"

"I'm concerned about some of my people, sir." Giotto said gravely.

"How so?" Kirk was suddenly all attention.

You had to give him credit. No matter how reckless he was with himself, he cared deeply about the welfare of his crew. Giotto _almost_ regretted the necessity of using that against him.

"I know you've seen the casualty reports from last quarter, Captain. I've been trying to improve readiness and response with a series of training exercises focused on the rules and techniques for engagement."

The Captain smiled. "Yes, I've heard those exercises are pretty impressive and by now I doubt that there's anyone on the ship who doesn't know your famous rules by heart."

Giotto suppressed an urge to ask the Captain to recite them, just to see if he could do it with a straight face. "Just because people can recite them doesn't mean that they're using them in the field where it counts."

"Well that's not good." Kirk frowned.

Sam sighed inwardly. He could almost hear the 'swoosh' as his point went right by the young captain.

"No, sir, it's not. But these are young people, most of them right out of the Academy, and they still seem to have this false sense of immortality." He looked pointedly at Kirk for a moment. Nope. That he fell into that category just wasn't registering. "I think I'm beginning to get through to a certain number of them, but for a significant minority even when it comes to the training exercises there's been …resistance."

"Resistance?" The Captain scowled, his face darkening like a thunder cloud.

"I can force the people in my own department to complete the training with satisfactory scores, but I can't order those outside my command to comply." He frowned, allowing himself to look a little irate. "I have strongly recommended it for all personnel, but those who see themselves as exceptions – and they're generally the ones who need it most - always seem to find excuses."

"Well I can fix _that_." Kirk said, grabbing the PADD from his bedside and writing swiftly. "I'm issuing a shipwide order. From now on, anyone you feel needs to complete that training will do so. No exceptions, no excuses." The Captain nodded firmly as he hit 'send' for the order.

"Thank you, sir."

The Captain smiled, pleased with himself. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"With any luck, that should go a long way toward solving the problem, but… " Giotto deliberately trailed off.

"But what?" Kirk asked sharply.

"It's a bit of a delicate issue, sir." Sam pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You see, there's one officer in particular, who is very good – top rated in combat, in fact - but his _attitude_ is a problem. He just seems to refuse to take the rules or the potential for danger in the field seriously, and while he may be able to handle himself, that attitude is influencing a lot of others, which is making my job difficult."

The Captain's mouth formed a thin line. "If he has an attitude problem that's leading others to ignore danger in the field, I don't care how good he is; he needs to be dealt with."

Clearly the Captain was not taking a hint. "I have tried, sir, but his biggest problem is over-confidence and certain degree of bravado. He's very resistant to recognizing those as faults. Since he's not in my department, I can't even take him off the roster for away missions, so there's only so much I can do to make him listen."

Kirk gave a small huff. "Well _I_ can make him listen. At a minimum I'll make sure he's not on another away team until he's demonstrated that he can take the rules seriously. Who is it?"

"The thing is, sir," Giotto paused, trying to look hesitant. "This officer is extremely promising, so I wouldn't want to cause any sort of mark on his record."

"Look, Sam, I don't give a damn about his record. If he's affecting my crew's safety, he'll shape up or find his career in Starfleet severely limited." Kirk looked at him sternly. "Now tell me his name."

Giotto took a deep breath, raising his eyebrows diffidently.

"His _name_, Mr. Giotto," Kirk demanded.

"James Tiberius Kirk, sir." Giotto pressed his lips together, wondering how Spock managed to keep such a straight face.

Kirk gaped for a moment, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. "Me?!"

"Dead to rights Jimbo!" McCoy crowed from the doorway. "And in case ya'll are wondering, I've got that promise not to send him on any more away missions until he gets the rules recorded and logged. It'll be a pleasure not to have to sew you up for awhile."

"Whenever the doctor decides you're fit, sir, I'll put to together an accelerated training schedule." Giotto smiled. "I expect high scores from you. After all, the Captain's attitude affects the whole crew."

* * *

_AN: In the TOS episode _Shore Leave_, Spock takes a similar approach to force an older, stressed out Kirk to take a much needed break._

_please r&r  
_


	8. Chapter 8 How to Train Your Captain

**How to Train Your Captain**

_Because someone has to_.

………………………………………………………..

The Captain looked up at the booth with a big grin and Giotto resisted the urge to pound his head against the wall. He took a deep breath before heading down to the training arena.

"Pretty good, huh?" Kirk waved proudly to the crew members that had packed the observer seats.

There had been a line stretching down the hallway a good half hour before the session began. While Giotto had carefully tried to keep the Captain's schedule private, the Captain had had other ideas. 'You did say I should set an example!' Kirk had told him. Sam was reasonably sure that that was when the headache throbbing in his temples had begun.

The Captain grinned confidently. "So what's my score?"

This was not going to be easy. "Would you care to discuss this in my office, sir?"

"Mr. Giotto, it's my understanding that you always give a public critique of performance for the benefit of those observing." Kirk's smile widened slightly. "And we have a lot of people watching. Let's hear it."

Giotto glanced at the packed house. He noted that those in red wore expressions indicating that they had a pretty good idea of the Captain's score already, so there probably wasn't much point in trying to save him embarrassment.

Up in the control booth, he could see Jenkins and Grosner with stylus and PADD at the ready. Sam wasn't supposed to know, but there had been a lot of bets placed on the score and he'd watched those two like a hawk during the sim set-up to make sure they didn't throw Kirk any unusual curves. At least, given his performance, no one could accuse anyone of rigging the test. However, from what he'd heard, command had bet heavily on the Captain, which meant those two miscreants stood to clean-up if Kirk's score was made public.

On the other hand, there were a lot more people in gold and blue watching than had ever been here before. A good number of them would probably accompany an away mission at some point and all of them went on shore leave. This might be the only time they'd be exposed to this sort of exercise and he couldn't let them leave with the impression that just because the Captain fought well, he'd done the right thing. Maybe he could get away with giving a critique correcting that impression without actually naming the score.

"_Mr. Giotto_" Kirk said, voice edging on command tone, "my score _please_."

Or not. He decided he'd bust Dan and Phil later (at least half of that take was going toward a nice get well present for Biales). He signaled the booth to allow two-way sound for Q&A, straightened, and looked the Captain in the forehead. "Four point two, sir."

There was a murmur of shocked whispers from up in the cheap seats. Kirk's brows rose as his grin fell. "I take it that's probably not the highest score ever?"

"At present, Lt. Uhura holds the highest score at 22.7, sir."

"Uhura? Seriously?" The crease in the Captain's forehead deepened.

The Captain and his comm officer were clearly friends, but Giotto had gotten the impression on a few occasions that Kirk was slightly intimidated by her. He'd imagined at first that that might have something to do with the fact that her boyfriend had nearly choked the life out of him on the bridge - at least until she started taking these sims. Right now, the Captain looked to be caught between considering the idea that she was more lethal than he thought and miffed that she had out-scored him by that much.

"Given her specialty in communication, Lt. Uhura's score should not be surprising, sir. As the _briefing packet_ for this exercise indicated, the point was to_ avoid a fight_, preferably through talking the combatants down from their initially hostile reaction."

"oh."

Giotto quickly looked up into the crowd of spectators. Falling into lecture mode with them was a lot easier than reprimanding his Captain for missing the point of the session entirely. "Tellurites are known to have volatile tempers and a tendency toward belligerence. However, it is important to remember that what might seem like an overtly aggressive manner to most humans is, from their point of view, only mild assertive. It is important to remember not only when dealing with Tellurites, but especially with unknown species, that it is an error to automatically respond as you would to your own – an error that can lead to unnecessary conflict."

Several hands went up in the audience. "Mr. LaSalle."

The beta shift tactical officer stood. "Sir, it seems to me that the Captain still ended the conflict pretty well."

There was a murmur of agreement particularly from the people in gold.

"The Captain got full marks for swiftly ending the fight once it began. _Most of you_" He looked pointedly at LaSalle "would not have fared so well against five attackers. But keep in mind that in reality the conflict would not necessarily have ended here. If the civilians filed battery charges, that would involve sparing with lawyers - probably more of them than any sane man would want to tackle single-handed."

There was a smattering of laughter and Giotto was relieved to hear some of it come from the Captain.

"Point taken." Kirk ducked his head with a half-smile and a faint blush.

Giotto nodded and gave the next question to another gold shirt. "Mr. Sulu."

Sulu stood. "Sir, I understand the desirability of avoiding a fight, but even among most non-humanoid species backing down is often seen as a sign of weakness and that can encourage the other side to attack. How do we achieve a balance?"

"An excellent question, Mr. Sulu, but one to which you already know the answer."

Sulu's eyebrows rose inquiringly.

"I've seen you fence, Mr. Sulu. As well as you attack, your real strength is in maintaining a cool and confident manner. That gives your opponent pause and buys you the space to wait for an opening or to lure them into a strike you're ready to counter." Giotto smiled at him. "That's why you usually win. To avoid a fight, apply the same poise and self-control. In most situations, composure projects more strength than an openly threatening attitude and is more likely to result in your opponent backing down. Allow anger, fear or aggression to dictate your response, and you've all but lost."

"Beware the dark side" came _sotto voce_ from someone seated just outside his peripheral vision, accompanied by a scattering of snickers. He scanned that section of seats, one eyebrow raised.

Kirk coughed, perhaps to cover his own chuckle. "Commander, I plead guilty as charged and throw myself on the mercy of the court. Give me another shot at this one. If I let Uhura start that far ahead of me, I'll never live it down."

"Certainly, Captain" Giotto looked up at his assistants. "Gentlemen, erase the score and reset the sim."

He smiled to himself as he returned to the booth. Maybe this would teach those two padawan bookies a lesson as well.

…………………………………………………………………………..

_AN: LaSalle appeared several times in TOS and initially had a 'shoot now ask questions later' attitude. I used to fence and my dd just started, so Sulu fencing is one of our favorite scenes in both TOS and AU. (Incidentally, the way Jedi fight with light sabers is based on kendo, the style of fencing I learned. Hence my fondness for Jedi)._

_Please r&r_


	9. Chapter 9 Having Another Go

**Having Another Go  
**

_Because everyone deserves a second chance._

_....................................................................................................................................  
_

Giotto stood in the control booth trying to keep a straight face while listening to Dan and Phil caught between horror at the prospect of paying out and trying to suppress a case of the giggles. Down in the training arena, simulated Tellurites shifted around, looking at each other uncomfortably before making excuses to back away slowly.

A green light flashed signaling successful completion of the sim, and the Captain looked up with the biggest smug grin Giotto had ever seen. Sam nodded and headed out of the booth.

"So-o-o, what's my score _this_ time?" Kirk asked.

"Technically, seventeen point eight, sir" Giotto announced. "However, I'm going to add a point for creativity."

People up in the observer seats, at least those not holding their sides or otherwise incapacitated by laughter, applauded.

The Captain took a theatrical bow. "Still a little behind Uhura, but I'll make it up on the next one."

"I have no doubt you will." Giotto smiled - nothing like plugging into a healthy sense of competition to get results. While he had a hard time imagining the Captain using this particular method in the field, he could hope that enough sims would so ingrain the attitude of looking for ways to avoid a fight so that it would translate to situations that weren't a game.

Kirk flashed a cheeky grin. "Let's hear the critique."

"You did very well, sir. You remained calm despite increasingly confrontational behavior on the part of your opponents. I assure you," he glanced pointedly up at the control booth, "we did not go easy on you. The use of humor to turn away insult was an effective technique for displaying that you were neither intimidated nor interested in fighting."

And any Captain willing to clown like that in front of his crew had more self-confidence than any one man had a right to.

"If anything, my main criticism would be that you took perhaps too lighthearted an approach to the verbal provocation. That initially tended to raise your opponents tempers which led them to push you harder. Had you not resorted to your rather …_unique_… approach to throwing them off that game, the situation could have escalated."

He turned his attention to the crowd. "While the Captain handled this deftly, I would not recommend his method in most circumstances. This sim is not _currently_ programmed to include such a response, but in real life there is the risk of achieving a more _positive_ reaction than one might be willing to accommodate."

It was all he could do to limit himself to a smile when a new round of laughter broke out at that. "Are there any questions?"

He gave it a moment, but everyone seemed to be shaking their heads. There were a lot whispered comments and after several spectators began blushing furiously he decided to let them go. "Very well, you are dismissed."

The Captain watched them file out, hands behind his back and beaming proudly. After the last one had left, he turned to Giotto and smiled, bouncing slightly on his toes. "So, seriously, no one has ever tried that before?"

"No, sir." Giotto replied as close to deadpan as he could manage. "I believe you are the first person to 'hit on' a strategy of driving your adversaries to abandon the confrontation by flirting."

And no one was going to get it to work that easily again, even he had to stay up all night programming new response scenarios.

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_AN: Originally I wasn't going to write a piece on Kirk's second try at the sim, but **jenetri** asked for it,__ so here it is.__ Record time because yesterday it just suddenly hit me how Kirk would improvise to win (I blame **T'Key'la**'s _Merry Month of May_ for where my head is at).  
_

_Please r&r_


	10. Chapter 10 No Rest for the Weary

**No Rest for the Weary  
**

_Because sometimes just getting out of bed is half the battle._

……………………………………………………………………………………

Sam Giotto woke to the insistent buzz of the alarm, cracked a bloodshot eye and groaned. "Alarm off."

What had he been thinking? Staying up all night to finish a project was a younger man's game. Working into the wee hours and then drinking afterward was a _much_ younger man's game. He rolled over and fumbled in the drawer of his bedside table for the hypo filled with hangover cure and pushed it into his neck.

_Ahhh_. It paid to be on good terms with the ship's physician.

Only a lifetime of discipline kept him from giving in to temptation and letting himself drift back to sleep in a warm bed. He ran a hand across his face. God knows he could use the sleep, but there was work to be done. Forcing himself up, he stumbled into the bathroom for morning rituals and a quick shower. He re-emerged feeling _almost_ human. Feeling actually human would require one more thing. He activated the small replicator in his quarters.

"Coffee. Black. Extra strong."

The rest of breakfast could wait until after he reviewed last night's logs, but coffee was essential. He took the hot cup almost reverently, letting the blessed aroma work it's magic through pure Pavlovian response, and took a seat at his desk.

"Computer, cue messages for the past six hours by priority; highlight any level seven or above."

He sipped his coffee and smiled when nothing appeared highlighted on the screen. Security was about a lot more than knowing when and how to fight. You had to be aware of your own weaknesses and readiness, and you had to keep abreast of your opponents so you could anticipate their moves. That was really the biggest part of the job and required staying on top of a constant stream of information. 'Fore-warned is fore-armed' was a saying almost as old as security forces under whatever label they had ever been known. Right now, neither Command nor Intelligence nor any of the outside sources Giotto had carefully cultivated over the years had anything requiring immediate attention – for which he was profoundly grateful. Maybe this lull would last long enough for him to get these green kids better prepared before the next crisis. And maybe, just maybe, an uneventful day would mean he could steal away at lunch and take a much needed nap…

His comm. beeped. "Giotto here."

"Sir, there's been an accident on the firing range. Three injured."

Damn it all! The coffee instantly became secondary to bringing him fully awake. "I'll be right there. Giotto out."

Thank God he hadn't lingered in bed. He downed the rest of his cup in one burning gulp and ran out the door. Sickbay would see to the injured, but he needed to know who they were and how bad it was. And then he needed to know _why_. Weapons accidents didn't 'just happen' – not if everyone did what they were supposed to. There was an investigation to direct, equipment to inspect, witnesses to question, vid's to review, and once conclusions could be drawn, briefings and reports to prepare.

If he was really lucky, just maybe he could steal away by lunch to have breakfast.

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_AN: This is short, but it's been 'one of those mornings'. Since Sam stayed up most of the night working on revising his sims to deal with Jim's innovative solution to the last one (and has his own chapter in **T'Key'la**'s fic now!), I figured he might have one of them too._


	11. Chapter 11 Unintended Consequences

**Unintended Consequences**

_Because no good deed goes unpunished_.

........................................................................................

Giotto stuffed the last of a sandwich into his mouth on the way to the training center. It was going to be one of those days.

At least the incident on the weapons range was sorted out. He'd found the idiot astrogator who had decided to try some 'fancy shooting', based on an overblown account of one of the Captain's exploits, pacing anxiously outside sickbay. Lt. Witko had confessed immediately and had the good grace to look deeply ashamed - not that that had saved him from a royal ass-chewing or from being assigned triple duty for the next several weeks to cover for the injured. Giotto doubted very much that the man would _ever_ mishandle a weapon again. Given how the Doctor had weighed in later (proving why one of the ship's cardinal rules was _Do Not Under Any Circumstances Piss Off Dr. McCoy_) it might be some time before the lieutenant worked up the courage to even _touch_ a weapon again.

Giotto _knew _that the ensign who was supposed to have been supervising the weapons range wouldn't ever allow anyone to begin clowning again. First, because he had made it extremely and _loudly_ clear to him that if there was a ever repeat of anything like this on his watch he'd be lucky to _only_ be busted down junior sanitation lackey. And second because the man had some sense of self-preservation. When Margolis had slammed him against a wall and threatened castration-by-laser-rifle if Riley didn't make a full recovery, Sam had decided just this once to turn a deaf ear. (He did however make a mental note to keep Witko out of Margolis' path for the next few weeks).

Now, thanks to eating almost literally on-the-run, Giotto had managed to arrive early in the observation booth only to find Jenkins and Grosner fidgeting under Mr. Spock's calm scrutiny. Wonderful. That was all he needed.

It wasn't that Spock made him uncomfortable (at least not any more than most telepaths). In a lot of ways he liked the Vulcan. He was disciplined and no-nonsense and outside of one incident (which happened after seeing his whole planet destroyed after all), you could count on him to keep a level head. Other than a clear aversion to using deadly force, he would've made a great security officer. However, putting the Captain through his paces in front of his friend and XO was going to be more than a little awkward.

"Mr. Spock, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

The Vulcan's head tilted slightly as he surveyed the clearly uncomfortable officers seated before him and decided the reference to pleasure must be another illogical human expression. "As I will be undertaking your training simulations, I thought it would be beneficial to observe, if that is permitted."

Giotto felt his brows tick up in surprise. "Of course, I encourage everyone to observe and learn by others' experience. However, if I may say so, you're the last person who needs these exercises." As far as he could tell Vulcans were born knowing the first rule and Spock certainly knew how to execute the second.

"Perhaps." Spock replied. "However, the Captain has ordered all bridge crew and command officers to complete them."

It wasn't actually a bad idea (even if it had probably inspired a certain astrogator to take a sudden interest in weapons training). He wondered when the Captain had been planning on telling him though. Probably right after he critiqued his performance on this next sim. Well, he should have expected payback. He glanced down at his assistants.

Grosner gave him a shadow of a smile and handed over a PADD with updated sim schedules. He owed them both a drink. Sam smiled to himself. The Captain was going to give him that 'gotcha' grin and he was going to say 'Yes, sir. We've already adjusted schedules to accommodate them all.' God, but he loved having advance intel!

"Very good." He turned his attention to Mr. Spock. "Would you prefer to observe from here or join the crew in the regular seats?"

"If it would not prove an inconvenience, I would be most interested in observing from this vantage. I have some prior experience with running battle simulations."

"You're more than welcome here, Mr. Spock." Giotto smiled. This was one way to keep Phil and Dan from running book on the Captain's performance. "We'd welcome any suggestions for improvement. The _Kobayashi Maru_ was before my time, but I've heard enough complaints about its 'brutality and unfairness' to imagine that it must be a masterpiece."

"Thank you, Mr. Giotto." Spock inclined his head slightly as he took a seat. "I shall be pleased to render whatever assistance I may."

Had the ghost of a smile just crossed Spock's face? Rumor had it that Kirk had hacked Spock's sim to beat it. …Hmmm. The day might be looking up after all.

"In fact, Mr. Spock, we'd honored to have you help. You probably know the Captain's responses to mission situations better than almost anyone by now."

"I would appreciate that, Mr. Giotto." One corner of Spock's mouth twitched decidedly upward as the Captain arrived in the training area. "This should be fascinating."

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_AN: In TOS Spock is always the one to get hurt on away missions if no redshirt is available, so he certainly deserves a hand in this. Although he and Giotto are natural allies, you have to figure anyone in charge of security might not like the idea of other people being able to read his mind. That Giotto is little uncomfortable with telepaths comes from the first story I wrote where Sam suddenly stood up and demanded a role. _

_P.S., Forgive me for building in a rant on mishandling weapons, but a local teen is in the hospital after a friend tried something 'fancy' with his dad's gun. If you have a gun, please, please, make sure everyone who could possibly get access to it knows the do's and don'ts of using it safely.  
_

_Please r&r_


	12. Chapter 12 Check Up

**Check Up**

_Because you have to take care of yourself too._

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Giotto sat on the edge of the biobed doing his best impression of someone who wasn't nervous or impatient. The older you got, the more disciplined you became about bringing your body in for maintenance, but the more apprehensive you became when a doctor took longer than usual getting back with your lab results.

He raised his eyebrows inquiringly as Dr. McCoy returned.

"You're in fine shape, Sam." The doctor drawled. "I just wanted to double-check a few indicators. There's a hint of arthritis starting in that old wrist injury, but since we've caught it early, it ought to be fully reversible."

Sam nodded, trying not to look excessively relieved.

McCoy held up two hypos and applied each as he explained. "This one is scheduled inoculations. This one is for the arthritis. Three more of these over the next two weeks ought to nip it in the bud."

"Thanks, Doc." He grinned at McCoy and rubbed the injection site on his neck. "You're losing your touch. I hardly felt those."

"For patients I don't have to drag in kicking and screaming, I can be nice." The doctor hitched a half-smile. "I don't suppose you could make one of those sims of yours a lesson in showing up for physicals on time? I swear I ought to have a bloodhound to track down half the people on this ship."

"Most of them are still young enough to think they're immortal. I wasn't so good about physicals at that age either." He couldn't help thinking that he wished he could still afford not to be.

"At least you're setting a good example for them."

Sam winked as he hopped off the bed. "After what we pulled on the Captain, I figure I better set as close to a perfect example as I can for awhile."

"Jim?" McCoy snorted. "I need bloodhounds _and_ a team of ninja nurses to drag his ass in."

Giotto laughed. "Well, I've already told my people to be good, but if any of them give you trouble, let me know. If they won't follow orders, I'm not above throwing someone a little harder than necessary in a demo so they'll have to drop by sickbay anyway."

"They're lucky to have you, Sam."

"I'm not sure how many of them would agree with that," he chuckled, "especially since I just volunteered to personally send anyone who doesn't comply to sickbay."

McCoy shook his head. "I think they know you've got their best interests at heart. I know Jessy thinks the world of you."

The doctor's expression had gone a little soft as he looked down to put his instruments away. There had been something in his tone too, almost like he was hoping for further comment. Giotto quickly repeated 'I know nothing' in his head until he was sure he could sound like it was true.

"Hanlan spent time in the middle of a combat zone before joining Starfleet, so she understands better than most of them." He smiled a little at the memory. "Don't tell her, but she's one of my favorites even if she does talk back almost as much you do."

"She's certainly not shy about saying what she wants." The doctor smiled fondly.

Giotto sent up a silent prayer: _please, please don't make me think about that statement anymore than absolutely necessary_. "Well, if that's all Doc, I'll get back to work."

"Actually, Sam, there is one more thing."

That was never a good thing to hear just when you thought you were getting out of a doctor's office free and clear. "Yes?"

"Don't worry; it's nothing to do with your health. The thing is, I know how you look out for your people and not much gets by you for long… so, um,…" McCoy cleared his throat a little uncomfortably.

Sam closed his eyes briefly wishing he wasn't way too old to put his fingers in his ears and sing 'La-La-La-La'. But the doctor was a good guy and he didn't want to make him uncomfortable. Well, maybe losing 50 credits would teach him not to get drunk enough around Dan to lay bets on this sort of thing...

He smiled and raised his eyebrows. "Doc, are you trying to ask permission to date my Lieutenant?"

"Sounds a bit ridiculous, doesn't it?" McCoy chuckled dryly. "Not to mention horribly old-fashioned, but that's how I was raised and you're as close to a Pop as she has anymore."

How did he get himself into these situations? Well, duh. Obviously by developing something close to a paternal relationship with a promising soldier he'd pulled out of the line of fire and into the 'fleet.

"Okay, Doc. You have my blessing on two conditions. One: if you hurt her, I get to put you through every sim I've got." He solemnly looked McCoy in the eye. "And two: Don't ever call me Pop."

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_AN: I've been scheduling maintenance for myself and the kids, so the opening to this scene popped into my head and it went from there. Although it can stand alone, technically this comes after_ Don't Ask, Don't Tell.

_Please r&r_


	13. Chapter 13 The Quick and the Dead

**The Quick and the Dead**

_Because maturity comes from staying alive long enough to learn from experience_

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Red lights flashed and a klaxon sounded. Cmdr. Giotto looked down at the two officers in the training arena. Two words immediately sprang to mind to describe their performance: unmitigated disaster. He wasn't especially surprised. He had teamed two young men, both with a tendency toward impulsiveness and near hyperactivity, in an exercise requiring restraint and patience. Nevertheless, he had hoped that they might surprise him. Giotto suppressed a sigh. At least this would provide a clear lesson to those observing.

Giotto proceeded down to the arena and waited for the two to pull themselves off the floor before addressing them. "Gentlemen, you are dead."

The Captain chewed his lower lip a moment before flashing a weak grin. "So I guess this isn't going to be a glowing review?"

"Again, sir, if you would prefer –"

"No, Mr. Giotto." The Captain held a hand up. "Everyone else stands out here and takes their critique. I don't want special treatment."

"Very well, sir. The lesson to be learned here is that the battle is not always to the swift. We want to end confrontations quickly and decisively, but the emphasis is on decisively. And ending a fight quickly does not necessarily mean striking fast or striking first. It is generally far more important to be in position to strike the final blow. Especially in a situation that has essentially become a game of cat and mouse, it pays to be the cat."

"But zair," Chekhov objected. "Cats strike wery qvickly."

"True, Mr. Chekhov. However, they also sit absolutely still watching and waiting until they are sure the prey is within their grasp. Any cat that leaped out the way you did would go hungry."

There were some muffled laughs from the observers and Chekhov's face flushed. "Yes, zair."

Giotto glanced up at the crowd. "We can laugh because this was simulated. In a real situation, the reckless cat would be dead." He turned his attention back to Chekhov, pinning him with a very serious stare. "And since you were not hunting alone, your partner would also be dead."

Chekhov blanched slightly as the truth of that hit him.

"Hey, I jumped too." Kirk said, adding in a low tone. "That's a little harsh. Pavel's just a kid."

Chekhov's posture remained at attention, but something inside him slumped. There was probably no criticism that could have hurt the teenager as much as being dismissed for his youth. Even all these years later, Sam still remembered what it was like. He had never been the prodigy that Chekhov was, but he had joined young and knew that at least part of the 17-year-old's over-eagerness was driven by a desperate need to be seen as an equal rather than a 'kid'. It was a problem that would disappear with the passage of a few years - but only if he didn't self-destruct trying to be recognized as a man before then.

Giotto bit back the rebuke that immediately sprang to mind, reminding himself sternly that this was his Captain (even if he was a kid too). "With all due respect, sir, age does not matter here. Do you judge me by my age?"

Kirk paused and a barely audible "No, Master Yoda" filtered down from behind them, accompanied by a small volley of snickers. Giotto resisted an urge to roll his eyes. Some of them probably thought that he was as old as Yoda. At least it had broken the tension. Chekhov had gone from looking mortified to looking like his eyes might pop out of their sockets from the pressure of holding back a laugh.

The Captain compressed his lips, also trying to maintain a serious expression. "Of course not, Mr. Giotto. But that's different. You're ...mature."

"I _am_ older than Mr. Chekhov, or you, sir." Sam allowed himself a slight smile. "However, maturity isn't necessarily a function of age. Mr. Chekhov is a Starfleet officer and so mature enough to be counted a man. I remind you that for most of human history 17 was considered more than old enough to face the realities of combat. Alexander the Great and Tokugawa Ieyasu were both leading armies in battle by 16."

"16?" Kirk rubbed his chin, mentally weighing Starfleet Captain at 26 vs. historic general at 16. Chekhov straightened, standing considerably prouder.

"To be fair, both had the advantage of noble lineage and societies that began training boys to be warriors from childhood." Giotto carefully looked from one to the other. "Both would have learned patience and restraint through strict discipline and rigorous training by 14 if not earlier."

"But zair, -"

Giotto held up a hand. "That was a necessity in an ancient warrior society where few men lived past 40. Fortunately today we can focus on training people for success in peace rather than war." He turned his attention to the observers. "And our mission _is_ peace. Unfortunately, we keep running into conflict and however well you have been trained, it takes more than a few years at the Academy to absorb lessons that in the ancient world were ingrained in most children by adolescence. _That_ is why I continue to train you. _Very few_ of you survived this simulation on the first attempt."

Chekhov and the Captain both looked a little relieved at that.

"Questions?" Giotto surveyed the raised hands and selected someone who had failed even more spectacularly than Kirk and Chekhov on the first go. "Mr. Grant."

"Sir, how do you know when to move and when to wait? It seems to me that in this sim if you don't respond quickly the other guys could get a jump on you. The choice isn't clear."

Giotto smiled, looking over Grant's shoulder at the person he strongly suspected had made the Yoda comment. "To quote one of my favorite strategists: When all choices seem wrong, choose restraint."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

_AN: Yes, that last quote is from Yoda in one of the novels. I chose Grant as the guy even worse than Chekhov and Kirk because that's the name of the red shirt who buys it in the TOS episode _Friday's Child._ He rashly pulls a phaser in the camp of a serious warrior society - despite the earlier briefing about just how quickly and lethally those warriors react to any provocation._

_I've been feeling sorry for Chekhov always being portrayed as such an innocent kid. That really doesn't correspond to my experience of 17 yr olds. And since history is an interest of mine, I know that even as late as the Civil War nearly 800,000 Union soldiers were 17 or younger. (That being said, if my kids ever want to enlist, they'll have to wait until they're legally adults to sign up)._

_Please r&r_


	14. Chapter 14 Clean Up Operations

**Clean Up Operations  
**

_Because sometimes trouble comes from the most unexpected places._

_....................................................................................................................  
_

Sam Giotto walked into the diplomatic liaison's office only to find her face down on her desk.

"Denise? Are you alright?"

She raised her head without opening her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm fine, Sam. It was just one of _those_ shore leaves."

He resisted an urge to rub her shoulders in a show of sympathy. While he dealt with his share of problems on site, Lt. Marshall got stuck with the lion's share of clean-up, including smoothing over every 'incident' with aggrieved parties ranging from individuals to planetary governments. At least he got to yell at people for abject stupidity. She had to be unfailingly calm and polite even when faced with insufferably officious bureaucrats. Personally, he'd rather fight a platoon of Klingons any day.

"Let me know if it was any of my people. They've all been warned that if they give you a migraine, you get to help design their punishment." He took a seat and propped his PADD in his lap. "In fact, I came by to ask about Shikira."

"Don't worry. That was just a misunderstanding. It turned out to be a glitch in the universal translator. I've already filed a bug report with Starfleet and Uhura's working on a patch until the official fix comes through." She gave him a weak but reassuring smile. "Your people have been pretty good this time. I have to give you credit. On most ships Security tries to live down to some myth about how ancient Marines behaved on shore leave, but not here." She winked. "You seem to have put the fear of Pop into them."

He narrowed his eyes slightly, but he smiled. Marshall was only in her early thirties, but took her own share of teasing about having to play mother, cleaning up after this shipload of kids. "_I'm_ only the enforcer. _You're_ the one who came up with the idea of making Owens stand duty in bright floral skivvies after that mooning incident."

"Taught him to keep his pants on, didn't it?" Now the smile reached her eyes. "If only I could do the same to the Captain!"

_Not again_. Sam had been right there when the doctor had waved a hypo supposedly filled with something to induce impotency right in the Captain's face. He'd thought _that_ threat would've kept him in line for once.

Denise chuckled. "He was pretty good this time too. But I did have to send an official medical record showing his contraceptive injections to fend off a paternity claim from the last visit."

Sam chuckled too. A captain, especially one with a reputation as a playboy, was a constant target for that sort of thing. It was one of the reasons contraceptives weren't optional for unmarried 'fleet personnel. He couldn't help thinking that for someone as easily seduced as their captain that impotency shot might not be such a bad idea either.

"So, if the Captain was good and my folks were good, who inspired that face plant?"

"Would you believe Engineering?"

"Engineering?" Giotto raised his eyebrows. He knew Mr. Scott had a still hiding in one of his labs (and the hooch from it wasn't half bad), but overall he ran a well-disciplined department. Other than a few high-tech pranks the engineers tended to be a fairly quiet group. "What did they do – hotwire a scout ship?"

"No. That would've been too easy," she rolled her eyes. "However, they did nearly kill a scout's crew and they totaled a bar in the process."

"Really?" Giotto didn't even bother to mask his surprise. As far as he knew most of them could barely hold their own in a fight while nearly everyone on a scout had to be combat-rated.

"They may not be commandos, but they can do a surprising amount of damage when they decide they have something to fight about." Her mouth formed a thin line. "It seems the scout's helmsman said the _Enterprise_ had the warp acceleration of a garbage scow."

Yeah. That would certainly inspire them to fight. If there was anything the engineers were passionate about, it was their ship's warp drive. "I take it things got out of hand pretty quickly from there."

"Now _there's_ an understatement." She grimaced. "That lot can be damn creative. One of them turned a seltzer bottle and toothpicks into a projectile weapon and a few others kludged a mini-catapult out of a broken chair. By the time the local police got there, three of the scouts were hog-tied to bar stools with duct tape – don't ask me where they got that! – _and_ someone had turned a bottle of Romulan ale into a some kind of blowtorch and etched '_The Enterprise Rules_' a centimeter deep into three walls and the bar counter."

Giotto bit his cheeks trying to keep a straight face, but it was hopeless. Just wait until the next time he saw Finnegan and got to tell him that Enterprise _engineers_ had wiped the floor with his highly trained scouts!

"It's not funny, Sam." Denise scolded. "Do you have any idea how much trouble it was to bail them all out?"

"A lot, I'm sure." He cleared his throat to stifle a laugh. "Mr. Scott runs a tight department. Let him know and I'm certain he'll see that they're properly chastised."

She folded her arms and stared at him. "Mr. Scott threw the first punch – said it was a '_matter o' pride_'. I'll be lucky if he doesn't write them all commendations."

Giotto bit his lip. On a normal ship, it would be up to the captain to assign discipline in this sort of situation. Somehow he had trouble picturing any response from their Captain other than 'Awesome!' and Denise really deserved some back up here. "Tell you what, since they seem to think they can fight, how about if I put them all through a few of my Rule Two sims?"

"How are you going to force another department, let alone another department head, to do that?"

Technically the Captain had given him _carte blanche_, but he didn't want to push that any further than he already had. However, unless those engineers really were closet commandos, he'd bet a fair number of them had wound up in sickbay afterward, which meant it wouldn't take much to convince the doctor to threaten Scotty with a severely restricted diet unless he complied.

He smiled confidently. "I have my ways."

"Sam, you are my _hero_, especially if I get to watch." Her eyes lit with glee.

"Of course - I'll even let you pick the sims. You deserve some entertainment after being stuck in this office every shore leave."

"Thanks. But don't worry about me. I take my leaves in nice, peaceful places where no one ever sees a 'fleet uniform." She grinned at him a little slyly. "If you didn't spend all your leave time herding your sheep, I'd ask you to join me sometime."

That had to be a joke. He raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm old enough to be your father, Lieutenant."

Her mouth went a bit sideways. "So I guess I should just send the usual bottle of Tanqueray as a thank you?"

"No thanks necessary." He grinned as he took his leave. "With any luck, watching whoever came up with that toothpick gun will get my guys to think a little more outside the box."

.

Denise watched the door close behind him and absently pulled at a strand of her hair. She'd once had a pretty serious crush on one of her father's friends…

...................................................................................................

_AN: __Tanqueray__ is premium gin. In the TOS episode _The Trouble with Tribbles_ Scotty holds Chekhov back from hitting a Klingon who's ragging on Kirk. But when the Klingon insults the _Enterprise_, Scotty slugs him, starting an all-out bar fight._

_Please r&r_


	15. Chapter 15 Already You Know

**Already You ****Know ****That Which You Need**

_Because the point of teaching is to open the door so the student can enter by himself._

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Alerted by a distinctly metallic sound, Lt. Phil Grosner looked up just in time to pull Lt. Casey behind a tree before a projectile crashed into the brush she'd been examining a moment before. Holy Shit! He flipped open his communicator. "Grosner to Enterprise!"

"Enterprise here. What's your situation Mr. Grosner." Uhura's voice was hard, urgent.

"We're taking fire. Source unknown. Request emergency beam-out."

"Sorry, no can do. We're taking fire up here too. Transporters are down. I'm switching you to tactical support."

There was a click and then Dan's voice. "Damn, Phil. Can't leave you alone for a second. You've got 20 hostiles vectoring in on you from SSW. If they're the same as what we've got up here, they're Hamaldi. Guess we know who poisoned the colonists' water now."

"What's the ETA on getting transporters repaired?"

"At least 15, but we're in the middle of a fight. I can't say when we'll be able to drop shields for transport."

Grosner signaled Matheson. "No transport. Get the sci techs and head vector alpha-charlie-021." He pushed Casey back toward Matheson and fired at movement in the distance before dodging and weaving after them. "Enterprise, we're evading. Any help would be great."

"They're moving slow, but closing." Dan paused. "Shit! Phil they're forming a pincher. Looks like they're trying to drive you toward a box canyon. Alter course. Hamaldi hate water and there's a small river 20 clicks due north. If you can get ahead of them, the banks should be defensible. Try to -" The channel dissolved into static and Grosner fervently hoped it was only because transmissions had been blocked. Either way they were on their own for the foreseeable future and running was about the only option available for avoiding a fight at this point.

A rock exploded into scrapnel far too close for comfort and Phil dodged east. If they could see him, maybe he could make them think they were heading that way. Covering return fire came from a rocky out cropping just ahead and he made a mad dash, diving behind it to rejoin his team.

"The Enterprise is under attack, so we're on our own for now." No need to let them know it could be any worse than that. "Do we have any more of those sample bags?"

Casey pulled out three. "Here."

"Good. Put communicators and tricorders in those. There's a river due north. Try to stick to he trees. When you get to bank, toss the phasers in and swim. Try to stay submerged as long as you can with each breath until you hit the opposite bank and then get to cover and set up defensive positions. Matheson, you're in charge."

"Sir? What are you going to do?"

He could hear the Hamaldi coming through the brush in the distance. They were deliberately making noise, obviously trying to drive them just like Dan had said. "If you move quietly enough to avoid being targets, you'll never get far enough of ahead of them. I'm going to create a diversion."

"But sir, that's -"

"That's an _order_, Ensign." He looked Matheson in the eye. "Now _go_."

Grosner watched as they disappeared into the forest to make sure no one tied to turn back. Satisfied that they were following orders, he looked around wondering how he was going to create a decent diversion. What would Mr. Giotto do? _Half the art of combat lies in deception. Make your enemy think one thing and do the unexpected._ The rocks were a natural place for a stand and therefore totally expected. He slipped into the tall stand of trees behind him and looked up. Now that would be unexpected.

Shimmying up a tree had not been quite as easy as he remembered from childhood, but Grosner managed to get several meters up and onto a fork. From here he could see the foliage move as the enemy advanced, still just out of clear visual range. He pulled off his uniform tunic wondering again what idiot had decided bright red was a good color for security. At least he already knew how his Chief would turn that disability into an advantage. He tore at the sleeve. Damn. How did the Captain always manage to rip his shirts so easily? Phil bit at the seam until it broke and tore the sleeve off, tossing it into the trees at the right and the rest as far as he could throw into the canopy to the left. With any luck the Hamaldi would see the bits of red and imagine they were waiting in the trees to ambush them. If they diverted their march to flank him, it might buy enough time. If not, he'd let them pass by and fire from behind. The pieces of red shirt should draw the first round of return fire giving him a chance to at least even the odds a little for the rest of the team.

He braced himself against the tree and turned off his communicator. The last thing he needed was for the damn thing to start working again and chirp just as the enemy got close. His hand came away from the tree covered in some dark substance. Probably some sort of mold - well, if it was poisonous he was screwed anyway. He smiled and drew his hand across his face, leaving it streaked in black. As his mother's distant ancestors used to say, 'Today is a good day to die.' Then he set his phaser on kill; he had no intention of counting coup.

The enemy passed beneath him, too intent on looking for tracks to look up and too sure the humans were fleeing to look for danger. Phil cautiously shifted around the trunk to a lower branch on the other side and sighted between the fork, waiting for the Hamaldi to get just far enough away and chose one with insignia to target. _Always hit the officers first_. He fired and ducked behind the trunk as his target fell and sounds of surprise and confusion rose from the ground. Return fire burned through the uniform sleeve hanging to the right and Grosner used the distraction to squeeze off two more shots in rapid fire. The next blast hit the remainder of his shirt and he took down another Hamaldi.

They were unnerved and hunkered down on the forest floor, scanning the trees for movement. Grosner held himself still. _Patience. Restraint_. How many times had Giotto hammered that point into them? He desperately wanted to see what the enemy was doing, but every moment they weren't moving was a small victory. _Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake_. Even if his heart was hammering in his chest and the adrenaline pouring through him begged for action, he'd take this stalemate as long as he could.

A blast tore into the tree just above him and he almost betrayed himself with a yelp. Another tree was a short distance away, maybe he could make it. He balanced and leaped. The branch gave way under him as he hit it and he fell trying desperately to catch another.

"Umph." The wind knocked out of him as he hit the ground and pain shot through his leg and torso. So much for using the Force.

A Hamaldi pointed an energy rifle at his chest. "Human." It spat. "You'll pay for that."

Grosner braced himself. _Today is a good day to die_.

Phaser fire dropped the Hamaldi and Giotto's voice rang across the area. "You are surrounded. Drop your weapons!"

It took one more phaser blast to convince them and then Dr. McCoy was over him with a his medical scanner. "You know, grown men don't climb trees for a reason." the doctor drawled.

"How...?"

"We disabled the Hamaldi ship and when they wouldn't talk we figured they were hoping to catch the landing party as hostages. We got everyone else as soon as the transporter came on line, but your comm signal was off so we brought down a squad and backtracked to find you."

Giotto knelt down beside them. "Broke a leg and few ribs, but it's nothing I can't fix." McCoy told him.

For just an instant relief crossed Giotto's face, then he scrutinized Grosner intently. Oh no. With a sinking feeling, it occurred to Phil that he'd fallen right into the middle of an enemy party just in time for his CO to see it. Why couldn't the fall have left him unconscious? "This, um, isn't exactly what I'd planned, sir."

"You know battle plans are always the first casualty." Giotto raised his eyebrows and touched one of the dark stripes crossing Phil's face, inspecting the black smudge that came off on his fingertip. "War paint, Mr. Grosner?"

Phil stopped a laugh that sent a shot of pain through broken ribs. "Chief, I think I may be the first Sioux to ever be really happy to see the Cavalry."

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_AN: Title is from Yoda. Obviously this one is told from a different perspective. A long time ago, one of my fencing partners was a blond guy with a very Anglo name who was a quarter Native American. Despite his looks and being raised mostly in the city, that was the heritage he knew the most about. Phil is roughly modeled on him._

_please r&r_


	16. Crave Not These Things

**Crave Not These Things**

_Because adventure-seeking is a lousy survival strategy._

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"Please, sir." Lt. Cmdr. Dan Jenkins stood at Cmdr. Giotto's desk all but begging to be returned to the duty roster for away missions.

Giotto leaned back and stared up at him, actively suppressing an urge to smack some sense into the young man. Jenkins was a good officer and given a few years time would likely be tapped to head security on one of the Apollo or Antares class ships – that is if he learned what the job really meant, which had next to nothing to do with leading teams on away missions.

"Why, Mr. Jenkins?"

"Sir," Jenkins straightened to attention and looked straight ahead delivering his reply like a status report. "I am qualified and after assisting with sims I know situational protocol better than most of the officers on this ship. However, I believe I could use additional experience in the field."

All true and it would have been a good reply if the subtext wasn't so obvious. Phil Grosner had lead the last security team and come back with an exciting story and the admiration of a pretty xenobiologist. Never mind that he had nearly gotten killed in the process. Giotto knew only too well that at their age that just made it all the more exciting. He rubbed his chin, briefly wondering how he had managed to survive being that young and idiotic.

"Alright, Mr. Jenkins, but there's one thing I need you to do first." He pointed to the side. "Put a dent in my wall."

"Sir?" Puzzled did not begin to describe Jenkins' expression.

"You heard me." Giotto nodded toward the wall in question, trying to look completely matter-of-fact. "Left side-kick. Make a nice convincing dent."

Jenkins compressed his lips, glaring at the wall as though it were mocking him. His knee was still weak from an injury sustained on his last away mission and while the doctor had cleared him for basic duty, the most likely outcome of trying a kick like that was going back on the injured list while leaving the tritanium wall stubbornly smooth and intact. For just a moment Giotto was afraid he was going to try it anyway, but the good sense that had won him the position as Giotto's second finally triumphed over bravado.

"You know I can't do that, sir." He looked down disconsolately.

"Yes, Dan, I do." Giotto leaned back in his chair. "So until Dr. McCoy says you're back to fully fit, I'm afraid you're stuck here on the ship with useless old codgers like me."

"Sir, I _never_…" Jenkins' eyes went wide. "No one would _ever_ think of you that way!"

"Good." Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "Then stop applying that sort of thinking to yourself. You're a fine analyst and tactician, and those are frankly more important qualities in security. If you hadn't picked up on that pincher movement by the Hamaldi and mapped an escape route, Phil and his team probably would have been trapped before the transporters came back on line. 'The highest form of generalship is to balk the enemy's plans'."

"Sun Tzu, the Art of War. Thank you, sir." Jenkins smiled slightly, but still didn't sound entirely mollified.

Giotto got up and put a hand on his shoulder. "Dan, I know it doesn't seem glorious or exciting, but frequently the most important work isn't. A good number of _exciting_ engagements arise because we don't have enough information to avoid them, and trust me, when you're in the middle of one, you appreciate that unexciting is pretty damned attractive because it means you're not hip deep in things you wish you were well out of. As our CMO would say, adventure-seeking is a lousy survival strategy."

"I know, sir." Dan sighed and gave him a small grin. "'A Jedi craves not these things'."

"Very good, my young padawan" Giotto replied with a half-solemn Yoda impression. "Now, how about we review the latest intel reports over lunch?"

Jenkins nodded, but paused to look at the wall again before they headed out the door. "Out of curiosity, sir, is it even _possible_ to dent a tritanium wall?"

"Yes." Sam unconsciously flexed the hand he'd broken years ago. "But I wouldn't recommend trying it."

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_AN: Giotto was young and rash once himself so he's doing his best to help the rest of the crew survive to become older and wiser. __I'm not sure McCoy actually ever said that about adventure-seeking, but it sure sounds like something he'd say. _

_Please r&r_


	17. Friends in Low Places

**Friends in Low Places**

_Because__ the people who seem important aren't always the people in charge_.

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._

Denise heard Sam just ahead of her in the hall and quickened her step to catch up. "What's up?"

Giotto slowed to a more moderate pace and tilted his head slightly to look at her. "Up?"

"You're humming, Sam." She smiled knowingly. "That means that something unpleasant is going to happen to someone who richly deserves it."

Lt. Marshall was more observant than he had previously imagined. Humming? He hadn't realized. "I must be becoming transparent in my old age."

Marshall gave him a look. "Says the man who cleaned us all out at poker last night - now, who is it? What are you planning?" She grinned at him. "And can I help?"

Giotto laughed. How had someone with such a natural love for mischief ever wound up in a straight-laced, no-nonsense job like diplomatic liaison? He hadn't intended to share this outside need-to-know, but the man had been a thorn in her side too and Sam _knew_ it would make her happy. "Do you remember Mr. Baris?"

"The idiot who actually reprimanded you for saving his ass?" Marshall rolled her eyes. "How could I forget? – I've rarely seen such a classic example of bureaucratic brain rot."

"Precisely." Giotto nodded. The reprimand hadn't bothered him. He'd hacked off more important bureaucrats than Baris in his day and the Captain had literally laughed at the official complaint. However, the pompous bastard had called his security team 'an inadequate bunch of children'. Not only had his people performed above and beyond keeping that ingrate out of trouble, but _he_ was the only one got to call them kids. Anyone else, _especially_ anyone displaying all the maturity of a whining adolescent, did not.

"He may be a self-important oaf, but Baris is a Federation official." Marshall warned worriedly. "You can't touch him – it could cost you your career."

"I'm not going to lay a finger on him." Giotto smiled serenely. That impulse had already been neatly assuaged by imagining Baris bound, gagged and sewn inside the punching bag at the gym (It had been a good work out, although he might have over done it a bit. Even the Captain had declined to spar with him afterward).

She stepped in front of him, halting him with a hand on his chest. "You know what I mean, Sam. You can't do _anything_ to him."

"Of course not – what could a lowly Starfleet Commander 'in the waning years of his dead end career' do to the grand and mighty _assistant_ undersecretary?" Sam smiled smugly and hummed a few bars of _I've Got Friends in Low Places_ as he resumed walking.

Denise caught up to him again, a grin spreading over her face. "You _know_ someone in the Undersecretary's office don't you?"

"I've been around a long time. I know a lot of people." He looked up not-quite-innocently. "Some of them even owe me favors."

She widened her eyes. "You know it's going to drive me crazy if you don't tell me."

He chuckled. "Do you know Claire Andrews?"

"The Undersecretary's _admin_?" Her eyes lit with glee. Long experienced in using back channels, she was already calculating the potential value of a friend at the top of the Undersecretary's office staff.

"Her husband and I served together on the _Lexington_."

"And you saved his life, didn't you?" Denise clapped her hands, nearly bouncing in delight.

Giotto looked away; Denise bounced far too well. "Nothing that dramatic - but I did introduce them. Fortunately, they still seem to think that was a good thing." Or at least Claire did and no matter what Larry thought, he had better sense than to contradict her. Claire was a formidable woman with far more power than most people imagined. She also had a limited tolerance for fools and a somewhat vicious sense of justice. Sam found himself humming again.

"Sam! _What_ is going to happen?" Marshall pleaded.

"Nothing special really - there are trade talks coming up with the Gorn and Claire's boss pretty much leaves the details of scheduling staff assignments to her. You know, who goes where, transport and lodging arrangements, …dietary preferences." Giotto smiled happily. Claire had practically jumped at the excuse to teach Baris a lesson. He was about to learn the hard way not to discount those supposedly beneath him. "I hope Mr. Baris likes raw carrion bird. He's going to be eating a lot of it."

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_AN: Baris was the obnoxious official in _The Trouble with Tribbles_ and the Gorn are a reptilian race from the TOS episode _The Arena_. I figure like a lot of reptiles, they probably like their food raw (yes carrion bird = crow). _

_The actor who played Giotto in TOS later played Commodore Wesley, commander of the _Lexington_ in _The Ultimate Computer_, so of course my Giotto had to have at least served on the _Lexington _at some point._

_Please r&r_


	18. Age and Guile

**Age and Guile  
**

_Because age and guile do not always win over youth and strength, but that is the way to bet._

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Cmdr. Giotto groaned as he came to in a poorly lit cell. Whoever had listed this planet as 'peaceful and secure' was going to hear from him _personally_ whenever he got out of here - wherever 'here' was, that is.

He shook his head to clear it and looked around, counting heads. Everyone from the landing party was present except Lt. Marks. His mind flashed through the possibilities: she was being held separately from the men; had been killed resisting capture; was already being interrogated; or (given the way she and the guard captain had been looking at each other over dinner) hadn't been in her room when their captors had come for them. Giotto was _never_ going to admit this to his Captain, but right now he fervently hoped that one of his people had ignored protocol and was safely lounging in a local's bed.

"Jim!" The doctor's harsh whisper came from the opposite side of the cell and Giotto got up and crossed to them. He didn't remember seeing him hurt, but the Captain looked bad. Their abductors had entered their room in the middle of the night and subdued them with some sort of drugged darts before they could put up much of a fight. He looked at Baker and Linas, who were just rising. They seemed disoriented, but otherwise alright.

"How is he?"

"He's having some sort of reaction to what ever drug they used to knock us out. I think they hit him with it twice when he wouldn't go down." McCoy shook the Captain, trying to get a response.

"Go 'way, mom …don' wanna go ta school…" Kirk murmured.

"Delirious and shocky, but at least he's breathin'." McCoy drawled. "All I can do for him without my medkit is try to keep him warm."

"Baker, Linas, give me your tops." Giotto pulled off the black thermal he'd worn to bed and handed it to the doctor. "Not much, but maybe they'll help."

He didn't know why they'd been taken or by whom, but the Captain would be a prime hostage or a primary target for interrogation, and he was in no shape for either right now. Giotto looked around. The windows were slits placed high in the wall and provided little light. They were supposed to check in with the Enterprise at 0600, so it was just a matter of time until they were discovered missing. "Baker, make a ladder. Linas, get a look around."

"Yes, sir." Linas started to climb on Baker's shoulders.

"No 'sirs' from here on out." Giotto ordered. "We were in our blacks when they took us, so there's a chance they don't know who's in charge and we're going to keep it that way. The longer we can delay or confuse them, the more chance we can hold out until someone tracks us down."

Linas jumped down. "I think it's just before dawn. I can't make out much, but there's no sign of the capital and we're surrounded by trees."

Any further report was cut short when the cell door opened. Two men, mountain clansman by their tattoos, entered. "Which one of you is the Captain?"

Kirk moaned something and Baker stepped in front of him. "I am."

"No," Giotto said. "I am."

"No. I'm the Captain." Linas chimed in.

"They're all lyin'," McCoy stood up. "It's me."

The first clansman frowned. "We are here to take the Captain. You will tell us."

Linas smirked. "Sorry, _she's_ not here."

"No games!" The second barked. "Do you think we'd believe a whore was your captain?"

Giotto almost laughed with relief. The one thing Marks had in common in with Captain had kept her safe.

The first clansman was becoming red in the face. "_Who is the Captain?"_

Nearly on cue all four officers laughed and fanned out slightly. The guards were armed with sabers, but it was still four to two if they did something stupid. Giotto just needed one of them to get mad enough to try to stick his sword in anyone's face but the doctor's…

Another man, marked as a chieftain, entered holding an old-style automatic rifle. "What is the delay here?"

"Ma'ar, they will not say which is Captain."

He struck the speaker across the face. "Fool! How could you let them deceive you? Look at these men! There are only two old enough and that one" he pointed to McCoy, "is no warrior."

McCoy looked about ready to challenge that assumption, but an incoherent cry from the Captain drew his attention.

Ma'ar turned to Giotto. "You will come with us."

"No." Baker moved and the chieftain aimed the rifle at his chest. Giotto caught Baker's eye and shook his head fractionally. That game was over, and as far as he was concerned, since Ma'ar had picked the wrong guy, they had won. He took one step forward, but no more. "One of my men is ill. Let the others go so they can take him to a healer."

"Ha! he _is_ the Captain." Ma'ar exulted. "Your men must stay, but I will provide food and water."

"That's not enough!" McCoy growled. A saber was instantly at his throat.

Giotto looked at the doctor steadily. "Just do your best to keep him stable. The _Enterprise_ will find us," he shifted his eyes to Ma'ar. "Soon."

The chieftain laughed. "Tell your ship to give us their weapons and they can have you now."

"I won't do that."

"Then you will soon give us the information the Klingons want and _they_ will give us weapons." He smiled cruelly. "If your man is strong enough to be worthy, he may live to be ransomed."

'Strong enough to be worthy' – there was all he needed to know about their captors. Separatists who wanted to go back to the old clan laws and crazy enough to think that they could deal with the Empire and not wind up as vassals. Well, he'd done his homework before the mission. If they wanted tradition, he'd be glad to accommodate. Giotto drew himself to his full height. "Among my people I am a Chief. I will only speak to an equal."

"I am Chieftain of the Masht'vi. You will speak to me."

"You lead your people to destruction. By the right of a Chief, I challenge you for the good of the clans." Giotto spat at his feet. "Name your weapon."

Ma'ar sneered. "You wish to die! My people have twice the strength of humans and I am in my prime."

Linas and Baker tensed, but the clansmen wavered. Not accepting the challenge could diminish Ma'ar in their eyes.

"Then refusing would make you more than_ twice _a _coward_." Sam scoffed.

Ma'ar struck him and Giotto looked back with a mocking smile. "Such a brave chieftain the Masht'vi have, who strikes an unarmed man while holding a gun." His voice dripped contempt. It was starting to have an effect. The clansmen looked uneasy, a fact their chieftain noted.

"I will defeat you unarmed." Ma'ar handed the rifle to one of his men and signaled them to step back.

Giotto exchanged looks with Baker and Linas. No matter what happened to him, their job was to watch for a chance to take the other two down and grab the rifle. Warrior codes were for people not being held prisoner by extremists.

As they circled to opposite sides of the makeshift ring, Giotto sized up his opponent. Ma'ar was larger, stronger and certainly younger, but anyone who had ever sparred the Academy's Master Chan (old even when Giotto was there), knew those were limited advantages. Of more concern was the fact that the chieftain was almost certainly a champion within his clan and so capable of killing with a single blow. However, the clans' fighting style met strength with strength and Sam had been trained in styles that this world had never seen. When Ma'ar fell into a fighting crouch, he stood straight in a relaxed _shizen-tai_, his hands held ready at _chodan_ the only acknowledgment that his opponent represented any threat at all. A mixture of confusion and insult showed in the chieftain's face. Ma'ar feinted left and right looking for reaction. Sam grinned at him. "What's the matter? Afraid to attack an old, weak human?"

Ma'ar lunged with a snarl, aiming a vicious blow at his gut. Giotto stepped out and aside, grabbing the striking arm by the wrist and slamming his opposite elbow into the chieftain's neck. Before Ma'ar could recover, he secured a hold on the extended wrist and dropped his weight, bringing the chieftain to the floor and twisting the wrist until he cried out. Sam smiled; wrist locks were a beautiful thing and they worked on almost every humanoid.

Sounds of shouting and weapons fire came from outside the cell - time to end this before it turned into a hostage situation. "Yield, Ma'ar."

The chieftain gritted his teeth against the pain in his arm and yelled. "Kill him!"

Baker and Linas struck before the echo died; Baker tackling the one raising the rifle while Linas kicked the sword from the other one's hand. Giotto had cocked a fist to KO Ma'ar so he could help them, when a gun shot into the ceiling drew everyone's attention.

Lt. Marks and the guard captain stood in the doorway with a mix of local and _Enterprise_ security behind them. She grinned at him. "Hey Chief, we can wait in the hall if you guys want to finish this yourselves."

Sam very briefly considered popping Ma'ar anyway, but decided it would hurt him more to let Marks take over the submission hold. "No, I'm done with this one. You can have him."

"You fight without honor." Ma'ar spat.

Giotto smirked down at him. "File a complaint with my Captain."

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_AN: __ The Prime Directive forbids using advanced weapons like phasers in a society that hasn't reached that level of technology, but it says nothing about using jiu jutsu. _

_Please r&r_


	19. Perception

**Perception**

_Because perception shapes reality, at least if you play your cards right__. _

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"Thank you, sir." Lt. Riley turned to go with a smile on his face.

Cmdr. Giotto watched the door closed behind him and shook his head. Third one so far – it was shaping up to be a strange day. _Your own fault_, he told himself. He had a carefully cultivated reputation for knowing what his people were doing almost before they did. Although there was really no trick to it beyond simple observation and a talent for reading people that had been honed through years of experience, it certainly helped in keeping this group of young hot-shots in line, so he generally met mutters of 'Master Yoda knows' when he busted them for some hidden infraction or pinpointed their weaknesses in tailored sims with a smug smile. However, lately that reputation seemed to have taken a new twist, ironically because of something he had missed.

Baker had seemed 'off' last week and a little discrete checking had lead to Uhura sharing a suspicion that he had gotten what amounted to a Dear John letter. Despondency could be a fatal condition in security (you had to be willing to put your life on the line, but you shouldn't be _overly_ willing), so Giotto had had 'the talk' with him and for good measure had asked Kowalski to make sure Josh didn't spend all his off hours brooding in his quarters. However, within a few days it had become apparent that instead of Baker being dragged out with the guys, he'd wound up spending an awful lot of time in Kowalski's quarters. At the time, since both of them seemed happy, Sam had made a mental note that Kowalski was pretty good at hiding his feelings when he wanted to and figured all's well that ends well.

Unfortunately, no good deed goes unpunished and word had apparently gotten around that he had something to do with Baker's new lease on life. While no one had been overt about it, in the last couple days he'd fielded an unusual number of only marginally work-related questions pertaining to interpersonal relations. Considering his own lack of any appreciable personal life, it was almost funny. Almost.

Sam was just considering whether this might really be some sort of elaborate practical joke when his door chimed. "Enter," he called, wondering who it would be this time.

Spock stood at the door. "If you are free, Mr. Giotto, there is something I wish to discuss with you."

Giotto smiled. He could at least count on the Vulcan to be all business. "Certainly, Mr. Spock, what can I do for you?" He began to rise as the first officer entered.

"There is no need for formality," Spock said, taking a seat. "I have come to request your advice regarding a particular human activity."

Dear God, surely not. Mindful of who sat before him, Giotto carefully restrained himself from raising an eyebrow. "What human activity would that be?"

"Poker."

"Poker?" Sam tried not to show his relief that the activity in question had nothing to do with Lt. Uhura.

"I have been invited to play and while I have familiarized myself with the rules, it has been suggested to me that that is not enough to understand the game. Therefore, I have made inquiries and learned that you are frequently successful in this pastime."

"I see." Sam weighed the fact that Spock had stated that with perhaps the best natural poker face on the ship against the Vulcan's strongly held prejudice against lying and decided that whoever had invited him to poker stood to either lose or gain a fair number of credits. "May I ask who invited you to play?"

"The Captain," Spock replied flatly. "He believes that the activity will assist me in developing a better understanding of human behavior, although I suspect that it is also another attempt on his part to encourage me to, as he puts it, 'loosen up'."

Giotto suppressed a smile at the hint of distaste evident in the phrase 'loosen up'. "Well I agree that poker will help with learning to read people, but I'd resist loosening up if I were you. The Captain's style tends to be casual and part of what makes the two of you such a good command team is the fact that yours isn't. It keeps the crew on the middle way."

"Then it would be only logical for me to endeavor to remain stiff." The barest ghost of a smile flickered across Spock's face. "Would that also be acceptable within the context of a game of poker?"

"Certainly - in poker it pays to play to your strengths and not being emotional is a definite advantage. Stiff should work well for you." Giotto rested his chin in a hand. "In fact, your only real disadvantage might be when it comes to bluffing."

"I have read extensively on the practice." Both eyebrows drew downward in an expression of mild puzzlement. "I confess that it appears illogical as one's hand either stands a reasonable probability of winning or it does not."

Sam shook his head sadly. Without a little help, that poker face was going to do Spock no good whatsoever. "Let me put it this way: poker is almost all about perception. You're a master chess player Mr. Spock, but in chess, there are just two opponents, each with identical resources, and you can each see the others position on the board, so there's a limit as to how much you can use misdirection to gain an advantage. In a poker, there are multiple players trying to make the best of whatever hand fortune has dealt them and what makes the game interesting is the fact that no one can see exactly what's in anyone else's hand. Think of it like an exercise in strategy where you face multiple opponents with unknown strengths."

Spock cocked an eyebrow. "Would I be correct in assuming then that your approach to poker is based on Charles Lamb's dictum that cards are war in the disguise of sport?"

"Not entirely," Sam laughed. "But it is good practice. Just like in combat, your chances of victory increase with your ability to misdirect and out-fox your opponents." He raised his own eyebrow. "So, just how strict _are_ Vulcans about always telling truth?"

"Some degree of prevarication may be allowed through the omission of facts or the use of ambiguous statements," Spock's head tilted slightly in an attitude of consideration. "However, telling a direct lie is nearly impossible for a full-blooded Vulcan."

Hmm …but not necessarily for a half-breed. Giotto grinned. He'd declined a place at the Captain's table in preference to his own poker group and out of consideration for the fact that Kirk's tells were a little too obvious after watching him in so many sims. Now he wished he could be there not as a player, but as a fly on the wall. With a little coaching, Spock could clean up. "What would you say to a few practice rounds to get a little experience?"

One corner of the Vulcan's mouth edged marginally upward. "If it would not prove an inconvenience, I would appreciate the opportunity."

"No inconvenience; I was just considering taking a break from office hours today." He entered Marshall's comm id.

"Hi Sam, what's up?" She sounded grateful for a distraction too, but he couldn't help noticing the way Spock's eyebrow twitched at the informality of her response. The Vulcan had tells too, how about that.

"Lieutenant, Cmdr. Spock is sitting here with me and it seems that he's interested in learning how to play poker. Do you think you could talk a couple of the usual suspects into a little penny ante so he can get a sense of how it works?"

There was a momentary pause as Denise tried to wrap her mind around the concept of playing cards with Mr. Spock. "Sure, give me an hour wrap up here and to make the arrangements. Where do you want to play?"

"My quarters will be fine. Giotto out." He clicked off the comm. "Will that be satisfactory, Mr. Spock?"

"Yes, I believe it will be, Mr. Giotto." He wore an expression usually reserved for items of scientific curiosity. "I shall meet you in one hour."

Giotto stood as the first officer rose to go. "I doubt we can turn you into a card sharp with a few games, Mr. Spock, but I think you may be able to teach the Captain a thing or two about the advantages of being stiff."

If both and Spock played their cards right, that alone might make the exercise worthwhile.

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_AN: Written because _**LadyRhiyana** _requested another one with Mr. Spock. In the TOS episode _The Corbomite Manuver_, Spock is unfamiliar with poker and a grinning McCoy says he'd love to teach him. Later, in _The Doomsday Machine_, Spock claims that 'Vulcans never bluff.', however I think in the rest of canon one could find sufficient evidence to the contrary. And if Data in TNG can become an expert player, surely Spock can too.  
_

_Please r&r_


	20. How to Train a Vulcan

**How to Train a Vulcan  
**

_Because you have to know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em_

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"I got nothing." Groesner frowned at his hand and folded.

Spock lifted an inquiring eyebrow. "You will not attempt to bluff?"

"Against the Chief? No-o-o." Phil laughed slightly. "Besides, even if he bluffs, odds are whatever he's got will be better than that mess I had."

Spock tilted his head slightly, considering his own hand and pondering this additional variable in the art of bluffing.

Phil watched him a moment. "Since I'm out I could take a look if you'd like."

"Never show someone else your hand, Spock. Everyone else will read that person's reaction." Giotto smiled at Groesner. "That goes double for Phil - he's got no poker face whatsoever."

Phil gave him a sour look and Denise chuckled. "Ignore him Phil. He's just trying to rattle you."

Spock's eyebrows drew downward. "In what sense is Mr. Giotto attempting to produce a clattering sound from Mr. Groesner?"

"She means he's trying to unnerve him," Dan explained. "It makes it hard to bluff if you think one of the other players can read you like a book." He grinned at Phil. "Of course, in Phil's case, he can."

Phil narrowed his eyes. "Like everyone at the table doesn't know that the best you've got is two pair."

"Boys, play nice," Giotto said. He had a working hypothesis and wanted to try it out. "Spock is trying to figure his chances of filling a straight."

A clearly astonished look flickered across the Vulcan's face. Score! "Mr. Giotto how could you perceive what is in my hand?"

Normally he would never clue another player in on his tells, but since they were trying to teach Spock how to really play, this was a special case. "The last few times you've had a potential straight or flush you've tilted your head a little. I just took a guess as to which it was and let your reaction confirm or deny."

"Fascinating," Spock observed. "I was completely unaware of the mannerism. Were I not a Vulcan, I believe I might indeed be 'rattled', yet clearly you arrived at an understanding of my thought processes through nothing more than the scientific process applied to behavioral data. It would seem that poker does indeed provide a remarkable opportunity for developing an awareness of the responses of others and one's own as well."

"That's why you should never play Sam for real money. He's entirely too good at that sort of thing." Denise shifted her eyes to him with a small smile. "At least with most people."

"All that practice keeping a professional demeanor with obnoxious bureaucrats makes Denise a continuing challenge." Sam smiled back at her. "Managing to rattle her is one of my few small pleasures in life."

Denise shot him a look. Under normal circumstances, she would have tossed back a comment on what that said about his need to _get_ a life, but having Spock sitting right beside her seemed to be having an inhibiting effect. Sam briefly calculated how much else he might be able to get away with because of the Vulcan.

"I see." Spock's eyebrows rose in an expression of comprehension. "That explains why you observe her at a 43.79% higher frequency than the other players."

Okay, apparently not that much. Denise raised her own eyebrows and Sam concentrated on keeping a neutral expression. Busted – and by a Vulcan.

Dan coughed. "Mr. Spock seems to have gotten the observation side of things down."

Sam very carefully focused on his cards a moment before replying. "Once you figure out your strongest competition, you know who to watch. Generally, you _try_ not to let them know you're watching."

"Then as you are the strongest player present, it is logical that Ms. Marshall observes you with a 54.27% higher frequency. I had not previously made the connection as Mr. Jenkins and Mr. Groesner observe each other with nearly the same frequency as they observe you." Spock's eyebrow moved fractionally upward. "Perhaps my presence has altered the usual dynamic of your game."

That would be putting it mildly. "Phil and Dan are throwing your data because they have a bad habit of competing more with each other." Sam looked knowingly at both of them. "That chit they've been passing under the table is how they keep track of side bets."

"Side bets?" Spock asked.

"We make the occasional private bet, just to keep things interesting." Phil flushed a bit under the intensity of the Vulcan's gaze.

An eyebrow slanted upward. "Would I be correct in assuming that one of such side bet concerned me?"

Spock might need less help with reading humans than Sam had thought. Dan and Phil exchanged a worried glance. "We, uh, had a wager going as to whether you'd have any tells." Phil smiled tentatively. "I won."

Spock pursed his lips a moment, eyebrows rising to half-mast. "I congratulate you. I am not certain that I myself would have chosen the correct side of that wager."

Giotto laughed. "I hope neither of you bet on whether he has a sense of humor. The play is to you, Spock."

"I believe that since you have already deduced the contents of my hand, it would be wisest for me to fold."

"Denise?"

She carefully did _not_ look at him. "I think I'll fold too."

"I'll take one." Sam laid a card on the table and took one from the deck, inserting it into his hand. "I think Phil's right about your hand, Dan. I'll see your bet and raise two."

"Phil can barely read his own cards," Dan quipped. "See, and raise two more."

The problem with low stakes was that Dan could go for broke, which wouldn't help Spock with bluffing. Sam tossed a couple chips in and picked up another. "Since it's just the two of us, what do you say we make this interesting?"

"My hand's pretty good Chief. What do you have in mind?"

"Next month's status reports," Sam said, placing the chip on the table with a calculating smile. "If your hand is that good, next month I do them all. Otherwise, they're all yours."

Dan rubbed his chin. There were few things he hated more than status reports. On the other hand, he didn't relish the thought of letting his CO bluff him in front of the ship's XO. Sam watched him with the air of a cat waiting at the mouse hole. Whichever way the hand went, he always enjoyed challenging his second-in-command and watching the way his mind worked.

"Go for it," Phil urged, grinning. "The boss could use a month off."

Dan made a face at him and then looked at Denise. "What do you think?"

Now that wasn't fair. "Mr. Jenkins," Giotto said. "When did playing poker become a democratic process?"

"_You're_ the one who always tells me that when there's time to consider a course of action, a good commander should take input from those around him." He grinned smugly. "And I've got time."

Sam smiled to himself. He would never admit it to any of them, but there were few things he liked better than being bested by one of the young officers he mentored, especially the one who would have to step into his shoes if anything happened to him. "Fair enough."

Denise was studying them, tapping a finger against her lips. "I think I'll second Phil. I'm really very curious to see what Sam would do with all that extra time."

"Right," Dan sighed. "Well, Mr. Spock, what's your opinion?"

"If I understand the other assessments to imply that if you call, you will be responsible for next months' status reports, I must concur. I observe that you straightened your shoulders slightly when claiming to have a good hand, a behavior that has correlated with bluffing on three previous occasions."

Phil and Denise laughed at the look on Dan's face. Spock's head tilted as his eyebrow lifted. "In addition, although I am probably the only one present capable of perceiving it, I note that Mr. Giotto is producing a tune on a sub-vocal level. That appears to correlate with anticipation of a favorable outcome."

Dan stared a moment and then gave in and laughed too. "Well, that cuts it. I fold."

Sam smiled as he raked in the pot. Vulcan hearing certainly provided advantages. "Mr. Spock, I think you're going to do very well at the Captain's game tonight. Just remember that in a normal game you don't ever inform the other players of their tells."

"I understand, Mr. Giotto. Out of curiosity, what were the contents of your hand?"

"Here's something else to remember: unless someone calls, don't show your hand. No need to provide any more hard data on when you bluff than necessary. For you especially, the longer you can keep them thinking that you _don't_ bluff the better. But since we've been showing our hands for instructional purposes..." He flipped his cards face up.

Dan's jaw dropped. "You had nothing! Why were you humming?"

"You had a weak hand and you hate writing reports a lot more than I do. I knew you'd fold."

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_AN: Written for _**fanficfan71**_ who wanted to be a fly on wall while Spock was learning poker. (I'm working on your request next, _**DarkEidolon**).

_Please r&r_


	21. Signs of the Times

**Signs of the Times**

_Because the more things change, the more they stay the same._

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Giotto looked up when he heard a knock on his door. Only one person ever did that. Captain, no, he corrected himself, Admiral Pike stood in his doorway.

"Chris," he said, coming around his desk to clasp his former Captain's hand. "You look good."

"At least I look better than the last time you saw me. I'm out of that chair." Chris shifted the grip on his cane and smiled at him. "How are you doing, Sam? I hear you've been putting these young colts through their paces."

Sam smiled back at the Academy's new Provost. "Someone has to. The Academy doesn't knock near enough sense into them."

"Hey! I resent that." Kirk appeared behind Chris's shoulder with a trademark grin. "_No one_ can knock sense into _me_, although I'll admit the Chief here has given it good try." He lifted his eyebrows at Pike. "And if I'm a young colt, why am I having trouble keeping up with a old horse with a cane?"

"Tortoise and the hare, Jim," Chris chuckled. "When you're Captain, everyone on the ship needs a piece of you, so even slow admirals can pull ahead. Now go take care of whatever that yeoman stopped you about and give me and Sam a chance to catch up."

Kirk looked at them suspiciously. "Why do I feel like I've just been told to run along and play so the grown-ups can talk?"

Probably because he had been, but Sam was not going to be the one to say it. Pike liked Kirk better than most of the other captains in the fleet, but he was clearly enjoying the fact that all of that gold on his sleeve would let him get away nearly anything. Giotto raised an eyebrow at him.

Pike just grinned. "Go _play_, _Captain_, and tell Mr. Scott I'll be down to engineering next to inspect for missing beagles."

"Fine." Kirk rolled his eyes as he turned to leave. "You two _kids_ be good."

Sam swallowed a laugh. Kirk was irrepressible. "Come in and sit down, Chris. If we weren't both on duty, I'd offer you a drink."

"Who me? I'm just a passenger using this fancy stuff to hitch a ride." He stuck his thumb out, waving his admiral's braids in the process. "Funny thing about being an admiral though, even off duty, if I order you to take a break and you have to do it."

"Sir, yes, sir." Giotto gave a small salute and pulled a bottle and glasses out of his cabinet. "Computer, set notice for private hours."

As Sam poured, Chris settled into a chair and looked around nostalgically. The ship was new, but offices tended to stay the same. He accepted his glass and pointed to small sign over the desk: _2 Credit Fine for Whining_. "Do you still enforce that?"

"Actively," Sam replied. "If I didn't keep blowing the fund on women and wine, I'd be rich by now."

"Wine isn't your drink," Chris scoffed. "And have you even looked at another woman since Maria?"

Sam pursed his lips and tipped his head side to side. "Looked at least."

Chris's eyes lit with mischief. "Anyone I know?"

"Yes."

Chris raised his eyebrows, waiting. Sam allowed a small smile in an otherwise impeccable poker face and just looked back.

"You're _still_ not going to tell me are you?"

"Nope."

Quite apart from the fact that woman in question was too young for him and had (hopefully) no idea that he looked at all, his position as Security Chief meant that he didn't share details of his private life (or lack thereof) with shipmates. As a cadet Giotto had witnessed the fall-out from someone ignoring that rule, so he tended to take it a lot farther than most. Pike understood that, but trying to pry had become a game, especially after he'd proven clueless about Maria until the day they'd asked him to marry them. The look on Chris's face had been _priceless_. If she'd lived, they might have tried to see how far they could get with starting a family before their Captain noticed.

"You're going to drive Jim crazy, you know," Pike scolded. "He's already got an XO who makes you look chatty."

"According to the doctor, Kirk's already crazy. And I like Spock; he plays a mean game of poker." Sam sipped his drink and relished the surprise on his friend's face.

"I might have known," Chris snorted. "You two probably have a contest going to see who'll hold out longest on calling him 'Jim'."

"I can't speak for Spock, but for me, he stays Kirk, Captain or sir until I stop feeling tempted to call him 'son'." Giotto looked up thoughtfully. "Or until he proves he can walk away from a bar fight. I'm not sure which of those is likely is come first."

"What's that old parents' curse: 'may you have one just like you'," Chris cocked an eyebrow and laughed.

Sam shook his head. "I had a temper. He has an attitude. With any luck, that means he'll get over it faster. Besides, even if it's sometimes hard not to think of him as a kid, he's not _my_ kid."

"Half the people on this ship are your kids, _Pop_."

It had really been too much to hope that that nickname hadn't gotten back to Chris, or that he hadn't been just _waiting_ to use it. Sam gave him a sideways smile. "You're the one who's going to be tending to all those new cadets, _Gramps_."

Chris put a hand to his face. "Oh God, I forgot we used to call Archer that."

"Get used to it." Sam grinned. He was going to really enjoy being at least metaphorically younger than Chris.

Pike sighed and looked into his drink for a moment. "Speaking of maturity, how's Dan Jenkins coming along?"

Now there was an unexpected turn in the conversation. Giotto narrowed his eyes. "This isn't just a social visit, is it?"

"Sign of the times, Sam - we need to rebuild the fleet and expand it. We got a ton of new recruits after the _Narada_ hit earth, but we need officers to lead them. Just like when you and I were coming up during the Border Wars, a lot of junior people are going to have to take on senior roles."

"This ship is nearly _all_ junior people, my department especially. You know we lost Radnor, Eaon, Malawi and Ilescu at Vulcan, and Haskell was promoted to the _Zumwalt_ just six months ago. Jenkins has the makings of a fine security chief, but he needs time and experience first."

Pike's brows drew down. "He's your Second, Sam. Are you telling me he couldn't step in if something happened to you?"

"No. In a crisis, Dan is solid. For the rest of it, he could manage until he grew into the role as long as he had Groesner as his Second. They're quite a team - bicker like brothers, but half the time you'd think they had some sort of private telepathy going." Giotto gave Pike a measuring look, knowing what the next suggestion would be, and quickly formulated a counter-offer. He didn't want to stand in the way of Dan or Phil advancing, but they weren't ready yet and he wasn't ready to lose them either. "Give me another year to round them out and start moving some other people up, then you can promote them together when the yard finishes rebuilding the _Farragut_."

"Fair enough." Chris nodded and sipped his drink thoughtfully. "Or they could take over here. The _Farragut_ is going to need a captain..."

Giotto shook his head emphatically. As if he didn't already have enough people who needed a piece of him. "You know better, Chris. Security chiefs make lousy captains."

Pike scowled. "Bullshit, Sam."

"Known fact. Captains are all about inspiring confidence and optimism and making people believe they can perform beyond their limits. Kirk's got a natural talent for that, just like you. Chiefs are pessimists and cynics; the necessary counterweight to the lot of you. We look for all the things that could go wrong and look people in the eye and make them face their limits so that they don't get killed ignoring them." He set his empty glass down as if that somehow capped the argument. "Captains lead; chiefs push."

"There are people in the admiralty who'd like to promote you."

Sam barked a laugh. "There are _other_ people in the admiralty who'd like my head on a stick. Besides, this ship needs me. It works in its own strange way, but if it's going to keep working, someone's got to scrub the green off these rookies and Kirk in particular." Giotto gave Pike with a meaningful look. "He'll make a truly great captain someday, but only if he learns how to avoid killing himself first. Spock and McCoy _might_ be able to get him there on their own, but Chris, there's a level of crazy around here that I wouldn't miss watching for _anything_."

Pike pressed his lips together in a resigned smile. He might have rank on his side, but in all the years they'd known each other, Chris had yet to out-stubborn him. "You sound just like Burruss," he chuckled ruefully and looked around. "What happened to that sign he used to have up?"

"I took it down. None of these newbies knew him, so they'd get the wrong impression."

Chris raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You didn't get rid of it, did you?"

"_No_, of course not; that sign was a legacy. If I make it to retirement, I'll to hand it down to whoever replaces me. It's right here in my top drawer." He pulled it out and set it on the desk between them. It read:

_I've been lied to, swindled, taken advantage of, ridiculed, and humiliated, and the only reason I keep hangin' around is to see what the #&& happens next!_

Sam grinned at him. "Every time one of these kids - or one of you _old_ _geezers _in the admiralty - does something completely outrageous, I take a look at it and remind myself that if Burruss could hang on through all the shit _we_ pulled, I can too."

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

_AN: Written for a request by _**DarkEidolon**_, who knows someone with the same signs. I have more stories for Giotto, but this seems like a good one to finish this particular series before it gets too long. (I may start a Vol. II after I finish _Caveat Emptor_, which also features Sam)._

_Hope you have all enjoyed this. I know I've enjoyed your input and reviews. Please continue._


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